I Will Not, Cannot Go
by odairrieres
Summary: After running away from the shadows of the war and finding a new life and fiancé in muggle London, Hermione is faced with a ghost from her past who refuses to let her go on living a lie.
1. Buried Alive

A/N: Hello again! So excited to start off my next dramione fanfiction. It's going to be very different from my last, and I hope you like it! Please leave reviews/comments so I know what everyone thinks works/doesn't work and I just really love to hear what y'all are thinking! Enjoy. :) **EDIT: Now have soundtrack for each chapter, links supplied on author profile**

It was held within the lush embrace of the forest, an outdoor wedding in the comforting reds and oranges of autumn that reminded her that change was inevitable and, sometimes, reassuringly gentle. Foliage had fallen during the ceremony, some clinging to her veil and reeling out laughter as her husband fought with the leafy veil, won, and sealed the marriage with a kiss. It went without fault; a simple engagement with the small group of family and friends that had seen Hermione through the maze of tragedy set before her and who had supported her despite her mistakes. It was perfect, and yet everything was wrong. Her corset constricted her ribs; made her writhe back and forth, and her gown dragged her down. Her wedding ring reminded her of the Chinese finger trap her parents had once tricked her into wearing as a child. The more she wrung at it, the tighter, the heavier it bore on her finger. Just underneath it was the shadow of the past it was trying so hard to hide through a layer of falsified happiness.

And it wasn't until the reception that she realized with deafening dread just why everything was pressing down on her.

She caught the blanched white hair out of the corner of her eye, past the blur of Ginny's face; a haunting ghost of a memory drifting through the emptying dance floor. There were the sharp jaw and cheekbones, the moons of silver for eyes that glowed brighter in the approaching darkness, the sly slope of a smile that always had her body on edge. Draco Malfoy had yet to catch sight of her, but she was enraptured by him.

"Who invited him?" Hermione heard herself say through sandpaper pipes.

There was a pause that forced her to tear her gaze away to Ginny, whose face was strained.

"I thought you did."

"Why- how would I?" Hermione's vision grew cloudy the longer she tried to carry on conversation. Her whole body felt pulled in another direction, towards the man who had haunted her dreams for years since their relationship's decay.

She shook her head, dismissing whatever Ginny prepared to say, and built up the courage to follow the pull in her chest.

Within seconds, she was before him, hidden in a crowd of dancing guests who didn't seem to care about the bride anymore.

He was smiling; a secret held in the corner of those tilted lips he refused to ever share. But his eyes seemed to bear all to her as they watched her, drank her in as she indulged in the wine as well.

"May I have this dance with the bride?" His voice was pulled tight, yanking her closer. She didn't have to reply with words.

His hands perfectly filled the curvature of her body but held her far enough to be modest, painfully so. She wanted nothing more than to draw him closer, to breathe in his long absent scent and the memories that accompanied it like the addict that she was. And she knew from the clench of his jaw, the protruding vein in his throat, that he wanted nothing more than to let her.

"I suppose this is when I say that I'm happy for you," Draco murmured and she tried to smile away the screaming of her heart.

"I suppose you just did," she replied with a small laugh, devoid of humor.

"Good, then I don't have to try to mean it," he sighed.

Where she had once felt heavy, she now felt light. Too light. Everything that was meant to remind her that she was sworn to another lifted off of her, made her float closer to her lost love. And he silently accepted her. His arms coiled around her possessively, anchoring her.

"This could've been us." It was more wistful than bitter, yet it bit at her soul and left her body shuddering with pain. She clenched onto his shoulders, allowing herself the pleasure of resting her head there. It was a perfect fit, his body remembering her.

"You did everything you could to make sure it wasn't, Draco." Instead of recoiling and retaliating, as Draco always did during confrontation, his grip constricted further around her waist. He was selfish and stubborn; he wanted more of her, more than he was allowed. And she turned a blind eye to it. She let herself imagine that the two of them dancing at her wedding, to someone else, wasn't wrong.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. The regret sank into her locks with his breath, grounding her. She could feel herself being pushed down into the forest's soft, welcoming soil. She felt the tingle of fear of what lay beneath that ground grow, and clog her throat. She clenched her eyes shut against the sting of tears.

"I know."

Their past lay thick as a wall between them and yet, with every passing moment and shuffle of feet, they tried to permeate it and become that one soul they'd once been. She remembered his insecurities, his soft spots, his sarcasm, their fights, their kisses, the way the bed looked with the two of them in it. And she found herself wishing so strongly that it had been them who were married today.

"Do you miss me?" He breathed shamelessly, and she felt everything go hazy again, her focus drifting between the present and past. She wondered if the corset was cutting off her air, or if it was his greedy hold on her.

"What do you think? You were my first love," she muttered, flinching against the tearing of her voice.

Silence, heavy with shared memories and thoughts that coursed between them fluidly. She could feel her mind slipping under them, suffocating there, buried alive. She thought she felt his grip loosen, her vision bleeding around the edges.

"And you, my last."

With a swift kick, she was throttled from the dream.

When Hermione awoke, she could still feel the scorching presence of hands on her hips, the whisper of words against her ear, the image of a past she had long forbidden herself from remembering seared into her mind. The sting of tears was now burning against her cheeks as they freely poured out of her. Her body jerked hysterically about the bed, her hands whipping out for solace where she found none. She could barely process how lucky she was that her fiancé, William, wasn't there to see her or hear the name that escaped her lips as she reached out of the dream for an anchor, a guarantee that it was just a dream. But as she grasped at reality, she realized it was no more comforting than the illusion she had been subjected to. None of the friendly faces she had grown accustomed to within the dream were there to soothe her. She looked instead at a barren apartment: the walls she was not permitted to paint, no matter how vacant the white scenery became for her, the straight and sleek furniture that were no more like her than straight and sleek hair would be, the kitchen she barely touched with a fridge filled with leftovers from dinners always eaten out – at a table for two now, if she was able to sit down long enough – and the pile of labeled boxes in the corner of her room ordering the movers to "handle with care." Within those boxes were the remnants of a refuge she had long escaped for a new one when all had crumbled. If she could find the gears within her mind that would allow her to move, she would rush to them and rustle through until she found the few pictures she still kept of Harry, Ginny, Ron, her parents, and Crookshanks. There were none of the ghost that roamed her mind at night. But she wasn't sure that confirming the reality of that part of her life would be a healthy choice, so she averted her eyes from the boxes.

She took a deep breath and tried to wipe away the dream with her hands as they dried her face. She tried not to feel like she was sinking under the weight of the ring on her finger, under the coffin she'd watched lower into the ground with Draco's body within, under the knowledge that war and an explosion of mistakes and sacrifices had taken him away from her.

She refused to give into the overbearing amount of gravitational bullshit that was trying so hard to pull her down and back to him. But it felt like she was banging on a sealed coffin lid.

"Get a grip," she muttered, sinking her jittery fingers into her hair and burrowing her head between her knees, shielding herself.

She felt the coming light on her thigh, peeping through the blinds and followed with the hesitant chirping of a nesting bird. Morning was pressing at her night terrors, but the night was resisting against the demands of the sun. She felt cold even as the light tried to warm her skin, the promise of autumn too fervent in the air around her and in the chilled blood within her. The closer autumn came, the nearer her wedding drew, the more frequent these cruel dreams became. She could feel the past creeping back up on her, rattling against the locks and chains she'd put in place to keep those memories sealed shut and away from her. And though the sun meant well as it tried to shield her from the shadows, it threatened to illuminate the very shadows she never wanted to see the light of day.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she stayed that way, petrified in the middle of the rustled sheets, and would have stayed that way had her cell phone not started ringing. She was jolted once more and stared at it for a moment in unreasonable fear. Did she think the dead were calling?

Ginny's name and face illuminated the screen. And so did the time.

She reached over and finally answered on the fourth ring.

"It is 8:10 in the morning and Miss Prompt is about to be Mrs. Extremely Late. Hermione, where the hell are you? I've been at this stupid bakery for the past ten minutes trying not to eat everything in sight. I did not walk all the way over here just to gain that weight back," Ginny's voice barked at Hermione, yet it relaxed her. Stiffened shoulders, shuddering muscles beneath the skin, eased.

"No one said you should walk that distance," Hermione retorted as she steeled herself to get off the bed.

"Should? I do what I want. And apparently, so do you. Are you coming to this appointment or am I picking the wedding cake myself? Because, if that's the case, say no more. I'll be glad to eat for two and take the cake I like the most."

Hermione's smile was less amused than usual. The clenching in her stomach and throat rung tighter at the word "wedding".

"You mean three. Look, I'm running late. I'll be there in ten minutes, just hold off on the samples until I get there." She shoved herself into an outfit, not noticing if it matched or not, and snagged up her purse. She lingered for a moment, feeling a tug to stay but also the urgent need to leave. Hermione clenched at her keys, the sharpness of them against her palm waking her fully, alerting her to the fact that she had locked away the terrors of her past years ago. She had the power to keep them away and she refused to let those silver eyes follow her out of her dreams. So she left, shutting the door between her and her ghost.

When she arrived at The Blushing Bakery on Fleet, in ten minutes as promised, she spotted a flare of ginger in the corner with an equally bright slice of carrot cake approaching her mouth. Scattered on the table before Ginny was an array of flamboyantly colored, calorie infested, and "criminally delicious cakes" – or so she'd been told by a coworker who had recommended the venue for her wedding cake. Ginny seemed to agree, with each sample slice having already been dug into by her ravenous fork. She didn't even flinch when Hermione popped up in her rearview, too consumed in the delight of free cake to care that it was supposed to be the two of them eating together.

"Finally," she said around a bite. When she turned, Hermione noticed the ever-growing bulge that was Ginny's stomach. "People have been staring at the fat lady eating this bakery whole."

Hermione grinned, couldn't help it, when Ginny started glaring at the salesperson that was hovering awkwardly behind the counter. She moved closer so as to put a gentle hand on the speed bump of a belly. "I hope the baby enjoyed eating my share of the samples."

Ginny rolled her eyes and adjusted herself on her seat as Hermione moved over to sit across from her, shifting the chair so she could get a good look over the entirety of the bakery from her spot in the corner. It was warm, despite the stirring chill outside, and quaint for a London business popular for its catering and wedding cakes. It eased her, letting her feel safe with Ginny, despite its rough proximity to the Ministry of Magic. The only person who bothered to look at her was Ginny, whose face was growing more and more troubled by the minute now that Hermione had arrived.

Hermione realized she had yet to try any of the slices and reached for the fork provided for her, but her fingers froze and hovered there unsurely. She didn't exactly have an appetite and the smell of sugar in the air was intrusive to her senses.

"Well, not as much as she would enjoy her aunt being there for her birth," her friend slid in, a bitterness in her voice that didn't taste well against the sweetness of baked goods. Ginny was watching Hermione's every move, a stubborn jut to her lip that held back a barrage of questions and accusations that had been lying in wait for weeks now. Hermione began to get the sense that this wasn't just a cake testing appointment. No wonder Ginny had been so adamant about going with her, William backing off to let the girls have their time together. How Hermione wished he were here instead.

Hermione sighed. "It could be a boy, you know," she sidelined, her nerves too on edge to take on yet another uneasy topic of discussion. She fumbled for the fork and began picking at the cake slices around her, if only to stuff something in her mouth as an excuse to drop the conversation entirely. But Ginny had grown even more stubborn and impatient since her pregnancy, her hormones making her as sharp and volatile as a knife -or like the fork she began to stab into a helpless red velvet cake.

"Boy, girl, you won't know either way since you won't be there."

Hermione tried to swallow but the pound cake lay lodged in her throat. She pushed that sample away and shoved her hands under the table, pressed them into her thighs where they balled into fists.

"Ginny, we've talked about this. I can't." Her voice sounded steadier than she felt over this matter, the fact that Ginny had refused to drop it since she had come to her weeks before about her pregnancy, the desire for Hermione to return to the life she had cut herself out of.

She heard Ginny's fork surrender, saw it as it was placed with a gentle 'clink' to the table with smears of red velvet that made Hermione's nails dig into the flesh of her palms. She eased her eyes off of the cutlery to avoid the gory deformities her mind shaped them into. Ginny was frowning, a dab of icing still clinging to her lips, as if to ease the bitterness that occupied them. Feeling it there, she bit at her bottom lip and it was gone.

"Hermione, I get it. I honestly do. I get that you've been through a lot. We've all been through too much. But," Ginny bit her lip again and tried to cover her words with that faint gentle sweetness as they both braced themselves for the conversation they'd been skirting around, "It's been four years. You're getting married in a matter of weeks, and the only reason any of us know- the only reason your best friends found out about your nuptial – is because Harry and I managed to track you down to let you know about the baby."

Unnerved and uncomfortable, Hermione's already pale face was drained to the point that her freckles stood harshly against the vacant canvas of her skin. She fidgeted and glanced around the shop, hoping that no one was paying mind to their conversation. They were in a secluded corner of the modestly sized bakery, only a few others lounging at the tables towards the front of the place, but the windows let in an overwhelming amount of natural light that highlighted the soon-to-be bride, her maid of honor, the line-up of pastel and white and loud cakes, the splayed samples on the table, the unspoken tension that coiled around the entire ensemble. The baker, who was supposed to guide them through the samples, had either already visited the table before Hermione had arrived or was averse to coming anywhere near it. Either way, no one else dared to look over. Some were blissfully ignorant, too wrapped up in delightful pastries to notice the quickly souring friendship in the corner.

"Ginny, can we talk about this later? This isn't exactly the greatest place to discuss this," Hermione urged, spotting a man in a powdered apron approaching them. "Besides, I already apologized a million times. I couldn't risk it, and I don't need you guilt tripping me now, so can you drop it?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed into slits but she knew the battle was on pause. The approaching baker made sure of that.

"Hope you weren't having a case of cold feet, Miss Granger," the man casually joked as he arrived at the table, his hands brushing off flour onto his apron. He was wide eyed and enthusiastic, probably hyped up on the sugar he worked with on a daily basis, and filtered the sight before him. He didn't see the awkwardness hanging between Ginny and Hermione, only the remnants of samples and the prospect of nabbing clientele.

"No, no, just ran a little behind. Sorry for the wait, Mr. Bryant," Hermione chimed, ringing flat. Ginny eyed her but she tried not to pay any mind to her friend.

His flour-free hand reached out for hers. After a brief moment's hesitation, she shook his hand. "Looks like you didn't wait at all," he mentioned with a grin as he nodded to the plates. "Are there any specific flavors you were interested in? I remember from the call tha-"

"She'll take the vanilla cake with butterscotch filling, the gold and red leaves design, and make it four tiers," Ginny cut in, whipping out a checklist she'd apparently seized from the counter and had filled out prior to Hermione arriving. She flashed it before the baker's eyes and tucked it into the pocket of his apron without letting him fully process the form or her abruptness.

"Ginny," Hermione groaned tiredly.

Mr. Bryant simply laughed. "The maid of honor, correct?"

The redhead pursed her lips. "Her maid of honor, best friend, sister, doesn't matter what my title is. I know what cake she wants. Will it be good to go by the 26th?"

He stammered, taken back by Ginny's steady babble and stare. "Um, it shouldn't be too much of a problem, though I usually-"

"Wonderful. Now, can I have a moment with the bride? I was in the middle of talking about tablecloths. Now that the cake is decided on, the colors should be easy peasy to pick," Ginny ushered him away. He nodded absently before moving off to another customer who didn't look like they were about to bludgeon him into a jam.

Hermione wanted to cram herself under the table, but she knew Ginny would just chase after her. It had been this way for a while now, starting when Hermione disappeared after the war four years ago with only a meagre letter sent to 12 Grimmauld Place every month or so to let her friends know she was alive and well. Though, "well" was a tentative term. Ginny, Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasley motley crew had all tried their hand at finding Hermione with the letters being their only clues. They all had a false address on them, written in ink devoid of any kind of magical enhancements, and sent by a muggle postman. It had soon become evident what had happened to Hermione Granger and Ginny had been the first to put it together and finally find her friend boarded up in a polished apartment in London, a blinding diamond ring on her finger and a look of stunned fear on her face. It had been a bittersweet reunion that Hermione had not been prepared for but that Ginny had been gearing up for, for four years. It hadn't helped that Ginny's hormones were on a roller-coaster ride. She refused to let Hermione out of her sight, threatening to crash at her apartment to see the fiancé, to find out what had kept her away all those years, demanding explanations and apologies. And, most importantly, she demanded the return of the friendship Hermione had forsaken.

She bought a cell phone, so Hermione would have no excuse to lose contact with her again. She titled herself maid of honor and had drawn up a wedding plan and invitation list that Hermione had been avoiding for months. Hermione didn't dare sum it up as just a way for Ginny to stay in contact. She knew it was much deeper than that. Ginny had been deprived of the wedding she imagined would take place at the Burrow, of the inappropriate jokes made at Hermione's expense during the bachelorette party Ginny would've thrown, of watching Hermione fall in love again, of being with her friend through it all. And it was about Hermione not being there for Ginny all those years, not being there for Harry and Ginny's wedding, not being there to hear Teddy's first words, not being there with Ginny when she found out she was to have a child of her own. And it was about now. About how Hermione was late to her own cake tasting. How she was late and how Ginny quietly panicked, fears about Hermione making another run for it whirling about in her head and unsettling her and the baby whose aunt and godmother Ginny feared would not be there for either of them.

"Ginny, if you're mad, don't take it out on the person making my cake. The last thing I need is an unwanted surprise at my wedding," Hermione huffed once they were clear of him. Ginny heaved a breath, her hand smoothing over her belly as if soothing her baby would, in turn, soothe her. "He'll end up putting something gross in there and I'll be stuck with the bill."

Her friend formed a barrier between them, crossing her arms atop her stomach. "Wouldn't be a problem if you'd just let one of the bakeries my mom knows make your wedding cake. The wedding would be put together in a matter of hours if you'd just-"

"Ginny," Hermione was getting tired of repeating herself. "I told you-"

The ginger's hand flickered up and waved her off. "You can't risk it. I know. But what can't you risk, Hermione? Afraid of your fiancé finding out there's such a thing as magic or are you afraid of finding out you miss home?" Ginny threw the question out there but Hermione stumbled to catch a response. She gritted her teeth, folding her arms in reply, and glowered out the window.

"It's barely been a few hours and I'm already having a very bad day, Ginny. So, can you please, please stop adding onto it?"

She heard Ginny exhale years' worth of frustration and worry. "Hermione, I love you and I know it's been… difficult." Hermione's brown eyes flashed red as they slashed across to stare at Ginny. She bit against the bile building in her throat, the queasy mix of cake and dread there. Her friend saw the tenseness of Hermione's shoulders, could imagine how her hands were tearing at the fabric of her weary shirt. "I won't act like I know what you're thinking or feeling. But I know you're running away from certain thoughts, certain feelings, certain memories. You can't keep running. You're getting married, Hermione, on a stack of lies and omissions that are going to catch up to you if you don't act on it first."

"Why can't you just be happy for me? That I've found someone? That I'm moving on?" She vented.

Ginny's fingers brushed against the sleeve of Hermione's fleece sweatshirt. "Hermione, you're pretending you've never touched a wand in your life, that eighteen years of your life never happened, that a muggle life is all you've known. That's not moving on. That's not even starting over. And it's not going to work out well, not for you and not for William."

"It's worked so far," Hermione rejoined tersely. Ginny's eyebrows shot up and she leaned back into her seat.

"Oh? Really? Is that why you don't have a wedding cake ordered, a venue picked out, an invitation list made up of people both William and you knew?"

Hermione huffed. "Look, it was supposed to be a small wedding at the courthouse until you showed up. There was no need for a cake or a lengthy invite list."

"That's not what William said. I heard he's been pressing you to invite friends and family for months and you were dragging your heels. He knew you had to have had friends from 'boarding school,' yet you were all kinds of mysterious about those years away. Honestly, if you wanted to keep secrets, you shouldn't have gotten engaged to a childhood friend," Ginny countered smugly, her eyebrows still raised and challenging Hermione to argue with her.

"I didn't pick him so I could keep secrets, Ginny! I'm marrying him because I happened to fall in love with him." She could feel the energy being zapped out of her. This was Ginny's tactic to get to the truth. She would talk Hermione down to the pit, to the core of truth that she was trying to hide behind layers of excuses and lies she'd built up to keep the past at a lengthy distance.

There was a silence as Ginny let Hermione's breathing steady. They were one wrong word away from creating a loud scene for the rest of the bakery to witness. Or at least, that's what Hermione thought. Little did she know that Ginny had casually and discreetly cast the Muffliato Charm in case the expected meltdown happened within the public space. Ginny was under strict orders not to use magic around Hermione, but she wasn't one for rules.

"So you weren't late today because you're having second thoughts?"

Hermione closed her eyes, saw the flash of silver that shot ice through her veins, and opened them with a sharp intake of breath. She tried to let it go, to force the image to drift away from her vision as she exhaled.

"About what?"

"Hmm. Well, it could either be about William or about lying to him and to yourself. Take your pick."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was just late."

"You're never 'just' late, Hermione. Don't even try to pull that on me, the person you've always badgered over punctuality. If you're late, it's because something was holding you back. And I'm not talking about traffic. So, please," Hermione straightened at the imploring undertone that crept just beneath Ginny's agitation, "please tell me what's wrong."

Hermione gave in, her body slumping back into the chair with a dismal groan. She was staring out the window again to avoid being swallowed up by Ginny's concern, and the scenery outside of people walking across the backdrop of businesses and tea shops was smothered by a sudden downpour of blood red and rust orange leaves. The leaves stormed through, though barely anyone outside took notice. They walked on as the sudden wind bulldozed into them, enveloping their bodies in leaves. The street became difficult to see, then unseen altogether. The leaves kept coming from trees unseen and they piled up against the window, slamming against it with a forcefulness that went against their light nature. They clung to the glass and soon she could see nothing but a wall of fall. The resulting shadow that fell on her sunk cold into her skin and she pressed the fabric of her sweatshirt closer to herself. The touch of reality from her hard fingers brought her back and abruptly the scene outside was back to business as usual. Not a leaf in sight.

"I've been having dreams… Nightmares, if I'm being honest with myself." She turned away from the glass and noticed the deep frown on Ginny's face, the grim knowledge that she was right set into the greens' of her eyes and darkening them.

"See, I told you, you need to talk with me about these things and stop keeping it in. It's not healthy being so far away and not having a suppor-" Hermione slammed a hand in the air.

"I'm talking now, aren't I?" She huffed and Ginny reluctantly quieted, pressing her lips into a thin line of patience. Hermione took it as the sign for her to explain herself. She breathed past constricted airways and weary ribs. "They've been getting more frequent ever since," she drifted off and tried to coax the necessary words off her tongue. They wouldn't budge. "Well, they've been getting more and more frequent and more and more vivid. Today I," another stuttering pause, "today I- well, when I woke up I wasn't really sure I actually had woken up. That's how strongly I felt it."

_Felt him_, she meant.

"What about? Hermione, are they about the war?"

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "I- no, not really. Well, a bit. It depends on the night. Some nights, I don't know, they're like flashbacks. Sometimes, I'm alone somewhere." Surrounded by trees made bare by the fall, leaves crunching beneath her bare feet."But, last night was something different. It wasn't a memory. I was supposedly at my wedding reception," Hermione muttered, running a tugging hand through her hair.

"Was it lovely? I'm guessing not since it was a nightmare," Ginny attempted to lighten the mood, a half-baked smile on the edge of her lips. Hermione tried to smile back.

"It was beautiful. It was under the canopy of a forest and everyone was there, enjoying themselves."

"But it's not going to be at a forest, unless… Oh, oh Hermione." Ginny stopped herself by putting a hand to her lips, forcing herself to pause. Hermione grimaced as Ginny connected the dots.

"He was there, Ginny. I had a dream that I threw my wedding on top of his grave." She bit down on the inside of her cheek and shook her head at the obscenity of it all. The smile she had shaking on her lips was bitter and humorless.

"Maybe it was just a generic forest. We have a lot of trees on this earth. It could've been anywhere. I think I even showed you a brochure for a park we could've had the reception at," Ginny rambled, her hands flustered as they tried to catch other explanations out of thin air. "Could've been anywhere."

Hermione couldn't stop shaking her head, her arms slumped on the table between them. "No, I knew that place. You can't dream of anything you haven't already seen. And I've seen that place, in the flesh, many times. I could feel that electricity in the air. I could feel the ground try to pull me under. If I had thought to look away from him, I would've seen The Astronomy Tower just over the trees… but I couldn't look away from him, not after all this time." It would have been a crime to do so. She'd managed to block Draco Malfoy from her thoughts for such a long time so successfully that seeing him had felt like a reward, before she was reminded why she banned him from her thoughts.

If she listened closely to the storm brewing in her mind, she could hear him laughing at her attempts to forget him, to isolate herself from the world that reminded her of him and the nightmare they'd shared.

Now it was Ginny's turn to shake her head. She leaned forward, her arms slinging over the table, her fingers bristling against Hermione's blanched knuckles. They both stared at Ginny's hands as the rough callouses of her fingers ran over the bumps of Hermione's fist.

"Even from beyond the grave, the stubborn prick won't let you go," Ginny muttered, her words clipping at Hermione's nerves. She tried to move her hand out from under Ginny's but her friend seized it, preventing it from escaping. She realized what she'd just done and eased her hold on Hermione's hand, frowning up at her friend. "I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, Hermione, and I know how you felt about him… but Malfoy always had an unhealthy grip on you. And I think you should take this dream as a sign."

Hermione drew back from Ginny, crossing her arms and barring herself against any advice. She was eying her purse, wondering if she could make the excuse that she had to go to work. But she remembered it was Sunday, and she would be leaving to go to an empty and locked office. And as much as she wanted to get away, she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts.

"A sign that what?" She snapped. "That I shouldn't go through with the wedding?"

"No, Hermione, Merlin no," her friend replied hastily, her hands reaching once more for Hermione and grabbing onto Hermione's locked arms. Her thumbs stroked the fabric. "Go through with the wedding. Have your happily ever after with William. Merlin knows you more than deserve it. Just…" Her mouth hung open for a moment and then clamped shut as she inhaled deeply through her nose. Her face was morphing into that motherly expression Hermione had caught her practicing in the apartment mirror once, having claimed it was in preparation for the baby. But now Hermione wondered if it had been in preparation for this very moment. "Just, make sure you've gotten your closure before you walk down that aisle."

"By probing at the past? No, Ginny, there is no closure. I'm just going to end up picking at old wounds and, if you don't mind, I'd rather not do that," Hermione pushed through clenched teeth. She felt under siege, the laughing in her head growing more distinct, louder, pounding at her as Ginny pressed from the outside. The pressure made for a nasty ringing in Hermione's ears that put her even more on edge than she already was.

"They're not old if they're still open."

_She's got that right_, a sarcastic little voice inside her pressed.

The prodding finally pushed Hermione over. Her jaw snapped shut with a finality that left Ginny out in the cold as Hermione shot up from the seat and snatched up her purse. Her friend followed, her chair scrapping against the ground as she tried to keep up with Hermione.

"Hermione, where are you going?" She beseeched, her hand barely grasping the sleeve of Hermione's sweatshirt. Brown eyes turned to glare at her.

"I told you. I'm not having this conversation. And most certainly not with you."

Hermione moved for the door and she could hear Ginny's feet pounding after her. She forced herself not to call back in concern, biting against the comment that Ginny shouldn't be exerting herself just to keep up with someone who was trying so hard to avoid her. She held fast as she left the bakery, the scene she'd been hoping not to make occurring as people tried to clear her path.

"Hermione! Damn it, you're gonna put me into early labor. Come here!"

She dug her heels into the concrete, her eyes skyward, and her short temper flaring as she let Ginny catch up with her. She heard a heave from behind her and turned to see Ginny's flushed but resolutely fierce face. She barely gave Ginny time to collect her thoughts and oxygen before she lay into her.

"It's open because of you. You couldn't respect my wishes and leave me alone and now it's open and shit is just coming at me from every direction," Hermione blurted, enraged. She didn't care who heard on the streets, strangers passing by on the sidewalk and averting their ears and eyes from the two women.

Ginny's face scrunched up in confusion. "What's open? Wha- Hermione, are you saying I'm the reason you're having those dreams? Honestly?" She gapped, her face spanning out in disbelief.

Hermione stood her ground, forcing confidence onto herself. "I was fine until you showed up at my doorstep."

"Oh really?" Ginny's eyes narrowed. "So the nightmares that you wake up from screaming only started after I had the audacity to try and find my best friend? You weren't having any problems before then?" She threw, her lips drawn tight. "No sleepwalking? Difficulty concentrating at work, dropping things, that kind of, you know, stuff?"

Hermione leveled with her friend, eying her suspiciously. She knew Ginny had meant to be calmer about this conversation, hadn't wanted to make this into a confrontation. It was hard to get Hermione to face the facts recently without it being this way. Ginny remembered it being the same way before Hermione left, days after the war, without another word in order to avoid confronting the life that awaited her there. And Hermione knew the look forming on Ginny's face now after she'd let the words leave her mouth, the glint of anxiety behind the pent-up anger at her friend's lies and stubbornness. She knew Ginny was afraid Hermione would vanish again and yet she couldn't help the flight reflex that seized her under the scrutiny of her friend's watch. It was all out of concern, Hermione knew that, she really did, but it made her feel trapped under a microscope she'd been trying so desperately to avoid.

"I'm guessing you asked Will for that information," Hermione mumbled feebly. Ginny's puffed up chest deflated and her eyelids shut tight against the sight of her friend: the dark circles that no bride should have hovering under their eyes this close to their wedding, that spoke of the shadows Hermione was trying to chase away without asking for help or even thinking about the possibility that shedding light on them would solve the problem entirely; that shedding light would shed the weight off of her shoulders.

"Yeah, I did, because the one person I consider to be my sister has completely cut me off as if I never existed," Ginny fumed, though her fire was running low. She was exhausted, her shoulders bowing and her hands cradling her belly as a reminder not to topple over. Her eyes were almost as red as her hair, the pupils taking in the view of the street rather than facing Hermione. "You know, not all of your friends are dead, Hermione, so please stop treating us like we are."

"And you know what else? You're not dead either," Ginny barely kept herself from screaming that fact into the universe in hopes of making it stick. Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself but found that Ginny was nowhere near done. "You act like the person you were died in the war, but she's still here. She's still here and she's kicking around in whatever coffin you shoved her in. She's the real reason you can't get a good night's sleep, Hermione. Listen to her, if you won't listen to me."

Hermione's slack jaw forced itself to move but silence drew forth between them, though her mind was anything but quiet. She could hear that knock she'd been drowning out for years, back in the darkest recess where her memories were stored, asking her to open the door she'd locked and air-sealed shut – or so she'd thought. Both she and Hermione knew her past was leaking out, escaping from under the eave and demanding to be faced. And the dreams would only be the beginning of the nightmare. She'd thought she'd gotten better over the past years. She'd stopped flinching at sudden bright lights, could usually walk into a room without immediately identifying the exits, was able to look unaffected by blood and the sight of hospitals, and she'd stopped believing she'd wake up in her old childhood bedroom. But it was all starting to trickle back, ever since the engagement, and she couldn't help but wonder if her past was raging against her future.

"I put her away for a reason, Ginny," she murmured.

"I know, you didn't think you'd be able to handle everything that comes with her. I get it, I do," Ginny asserted, the darkness at the edges of her eyes reminding Hermione that she wasn't alone in her struggle with the past. "And I know that you thought you didn't have anyone there to help you through it but you do. You have me. You have Harry. Ron. And now you have William. And, look, I'm not saying you have to tell Will everything-"

Hermione huffed. "We both know I'm prohibited from doing that, by statute."

"And we both know the ministry would do you a solid and look the other way because of all you've done," Ginny puffed up, but quickly deflated. "If you really don't feel comfortable doing that then don't. But, if you really want to lay to rest the past, you have to stop running away from it. You need to acknowledge it existed and come to terms with yourself. Say goodbye to it, to him, because you deserve peace. It's time."

Someone brushed past Hermione, the sting of contact making her eyes fly up to catch the person who was responsible. Ghastly blonde hair and the ghost of a smirk blanched her vision. _You've made me wait long enough_, a voice slammed into her ears, throwing her off kilter. She blinked and a man wearing a white hat was muttering an apology to her before turning away. Hermione resumed breathing, though her lungs shriveled at the idea of saying goodbye to someone she pretended never existed. She feared unburying more than one body by digging up her past.

"I don't think a walk down memory lane right before I walk down the aisle is such a great idea."

"Don't you get it? They're one in the same."

And they were. Hermione was forced to accept that the closer her marriage to William came, the further into her memories she was dragged. The chapters of her life she had simply discontinued were raging against her, demanding she write an ending before starting a new story of wedded bliss. She'd known this for some time, and that's what the building dread in the pit of her stomach had been born of. She simply refused to acknowledge it until now, when everything around her was turning, once more, into scattered patches of memories. Ginny left her to face these facts, with the promise to return tomorrow to discuss more wedding gibberish -an excuse to make sure Hermione was still in-tact and not scheming to run away again. Every street sign Hermione passed morphed into a cacophony of _do not enter_s and arrows pointing out the way that buried part of her wanted to go. And that's how she found herself wandering down streets, turning on instinct at certain crossings until she had weaved her way through muggle pedestrian traffic and into the Leaky Cauldron, her hand clenching tight to the floo powder Ginny had firmly placed into Hermione's hands. She avoided the pairs of curious eyes that landed on her as she entered, few muttering to others about the familiarity of her features and the curiosity of her arrival. Her feet itched to fling her outside the door and she cursed Ginny for insisting she had work to do at the Ministry and could not come with her. They both knew Ginny was forcing her to face this alone. She hated her for it.

Not wanting to be there a second longer, Hermione tried not to embarrass herself by running to the fireplace, where she then tossed the powder and fled the facility. When she opened her eyes, coughing away the remnants of ash and dirt that sparked a frenzy of panic in her gut, she was bombarded by the scents and sounds of the central inn and pub of Hogsmeade, The Three Broomsticks Inn. As it was a weekend, there were Hogwarts students, professors, and neighboring witches and wizards lounging about at tables covered in Butterbeer mugs and snacks that filled Hermione's senses with the hunger she had otherwise been missing as of late.

It was as her memory had stored it, dark and cozy with the warmth of food drawing people in from the cold, though the faces that surrounded her were much different. The corner booth she had sat in with Harry and Ron was filled with sixth years whose faces were less severe than theirs had been at that age, though a hint of the war was etched in the creases of their eyes. The building itself looked as if it had never been touched by war, and it helped lower her guards as she stepped out of the fireplace. And everyone here was too enthralled by student and teenage dilemmas to pay the sudden arrival any mind. That was, everyone other than a willowy bespectacled woman who was making her way past the crowds to reach Hermione. She had only to spot the sharp point of the woman's hat to know who she was.

"I received an owl from the Weasley residence stating I might be seeing an old student today," Minerva stated as a hello when she stopped in front of Hermione, her voice enveloping Hermione in a calm ease she hadn't felt in a long time. Minerva's hands were held together tentatively and they both stood apart in quiet admiration before Hermione was whisked into a steel embrace. She hadn't expected the contact and relished in the brevity of her connection with a cherished piece of her past. She reminded her hands to return the favor and hugged her old professor with a strength she'd been building up for this moment. When Minerva pulled away, Hermione felt ashamed to see the spectrum of emotions her return had brought up in the composed witch.

"I'm sorry for barging in like this, when you probably have so much you're doing right now. It's just that I-" She was cut off by a sad smile and the touch of a hand on her shoulder.

"I know why you've come back, and it is no bother at all. I'll take you to him," Minerva said gently. She guided Hermione out of Hogsmeade, away from the bustle of students running about in the freedom of the cool weekend, and towards the edge of the grounds of Hogwarts, where the trees mirrored those Hermione had seen so frequently behind closed eyelids. Her mentor was quiet as she lead the two of them through the foliage, clearing the way if need be by a swift move of her wand, until they reached the clearing that Hermione had only twice before visited.

"You haven't been here at all since the funeral?" Minerva asked quietly, unsure how to broach the subject.

Hermione grimaced. "Not in the flesh, no."

_Forever avoiding the inevitable_. The voice in her head was deafening and the itch to leave the place that was enhancing all her suppressed traumas was intensifying along with the voice. The voice that was sounding more and more like it was coming from below her rather than within her.

"I assumed so. It's why we decided not to move him." There was unease in her professor's voice that rattled Hermione further. She turned her eyes away from her surroundings and focused in on Minerva.

"Move him?" It came out sharper than she intended. The look of surprise on Minerva's face slapped her with shame. "I'm sorry. Why would he be moved?"

"There have been discussions about wartime burials, and the possibility of moving him to the Malfoy family plot on the estate." She'd tried to deliver the news as softly as possible, but it still came as a blow to Hermione. There was an unreasonable possessiveness that overwhelmed her at the thought of him being moved without her permission, without her knowledge, to a place she knew she would never be able to reach him. She shook her head, reminding herself that she no longer had the right to say where Draco Malfoy lay. She no longer owned the rights to his life or death.

"Right. Well, I'm sure that's what he would have wanted."

_Liar_.

"Of course," Hermione had to look away from the pity spread over Minerva's face. "Take all the time you need. I won't be too far away," she assured. With a small nod of encouragement, Minerva McGonagall was gone and left Hermione alone with her buried past.

_Took her long enough. Old lady sure takes her time with everything: leaving, dying._

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the rambling in her head, the voice that sounded so familiar that she wanted to scream just to shut it out. It was happening all over again, the maddening jumble of sounds and visions that had pushed her out of the wizarding world for good. When she opened her eyes and tried to calmly and systematically take in the same trees that had beckoned to her subconsciously, she couldn't fight the feeling that someone was watching her and that the ground would, at once, swallow her up and finalize the disappearance she'd attempted four years ago. It was nothing like the dream. There were no comforting faces to act like morphine to the pain that was scorching her veins as she stood there staring down at Draco's burial. The entire place was a trigger, a trap, and with one step, she would press down, and an explosion would break down all the barriers she had put in place. She could already feel it building up inside her. She was having a hard time breathing, her vision blurring, a pounding in her head so fierce that it threatened to compress her brain into oblivion. A ringing followed that shredded her eardrums and she instinctively pressed her hands to her face, trying to squeeze out whatever was in there tearing her apart so she could toss it to the ground and dump it there beside Draco.

She made to cry out for Minerva.

"Well, don't you look more like a mourning widow than blushing bride," the voice called from beyond the wreckage in her brain. As if he'd flipped a switch, the chaos that had her writhing was gone and she was stumbling to stand upright again. When she did, her worst fear had come to fruition.

With the polished attire reminiscent of his father and a pale pallor intensified by the permanence of death, stood Draco Malfoy atop his own grave. The smirk on his face was victorious of his forceful escape from the mental coffin she shoved him into four years prior. He looked utterly composed and healthy for someone that was dead, while she looked ready to fill the grave he apparently vacated for the sole purpose of tormenting her. Had she completely lost it? She knew she had been slipping before, when he first died. She had known that if she stayed, something like this might've happened, but she thought she had gotten better. He was dead, he was supposed to be dead to her. But there he was.

"You're dead. I watched you die," she stumbled to say, hoping that maybe the words would force him to return to his imprisonment in her mind, in his grave. He simply smiled at her, the corners of his lips lacking the spirit of happiness necessary for a healthy, living smile.

"Interesting observations, as always Hermione, but the one I'm just dying to talk about is why the ring on your finger isn't the one I gave you on our wedding day."


	2. Just the Beginning

[Make sure to look for the soundtrack on my profile page!]

_5th Year, 1996_

Her steps were light on the wood floors as she briskly made her way through the lower level of the library. The shrouding darkness that seeped through the towering windows pressed her to move faster, just to keep ahead of the shadows. It wasn't exactly after curfew but it was getting too close for her comfort and she didn't want to be caught with what she was about to seize. The key she had nestled snugly in her fist scorched hotter the longer she had it in her possession, and she knew that if she didn't get the book she was after soon, she would have a third-degree burn on her hand that would brand her as the thief that she was. She hated that she had to hold it. The key was enchanted in such a way that if it wasn't in physical contact with flesh, it would return to its home in Umbridge's office; how she loathed the prospect of going back in there to retrieve it once more. It had already been a close call last time. She'd been sure the cats on the wall would have given her away if she hadn't been quick about it. Because of this, she was racing against time, almost tripping over rugs and stuck-out chairs as she maneuvered through the many bookshelves towards her finish line. She was pleased that not many students relished being in the library at this time, but reminded herself that the librarian was very much a permanent resident she had to smile and wave to in order to keep suspicions low. It helped that Hermione was known for her daily library excursions, grabbing books from here and there for reasons people assumed were studious and pure. So, the librarian didn't raise an eyebrow when Hermione asked to enter the restricted section. Given another key, one that didn't sting on contact like the other she kept dutifully hidden, Hermione approached the restricted section and swiftly went in without a moment's hesitation.

Once inside, she didn't even bother with the front rows. She honed in on the locked bookcase in the back, her feet leading her there without a second thought. The key in her hand was at its hottest as she stuck it into the lock and twisted. She made quick work of finding the book she needed, its bind poking out from behind others whose titles only hinted, barely grazed upon the subject matter of the book she slipped out from under them. While they promised insight on _The Rise of Necromancy_, on how _Silence Falls: A Collection of Potions to Quiet the Living_, and on _The True Magick of Blood, _the one she clasped onto simply stated it was _A Book of Magick._ Simple, yet anything but sweet. She felt repelled by the touch of its leather binding, but also enthralled by it all the same. She forgot her time constraints for a moment as she stared at the book in her hands, flipping open the cover to unmask a thick layer of death as dust and other follicles stirred at being risen from their slumber. The pages groaned and hissed under the provocation of her fingers as they skimmed over the parchment, and she could feel a certain discomfort. It was as if the book didn't want her holding it, as if she had no right, and yet it felt curious about her intentions. She felt curious, too.

She made to flip another page when there was a creak; a loose plank of wood tattled on whoever was trying to sneak up on her. Hermione slapped the book shut, trying and failing not to cough at the influx of dust that sprang up because of it. Successfully pulled out of the trance, she remembered the nagging and painful key in her hand and made to lock the bookcase as she simultaneously peered behind her to see who was intruding on her, possibly, criminal activities. She tried, and failed again, not to gag at the face her eyes fell on.

"And what would a goody two-shoes like you be doing in a place like this?" Draco Malfoy called from the doorway. His hand lounged on the bared door, swinging it casually while Hermione contemplated hexing him just so she could get away. He was completely and utterly blocking the sole entrance and exit.

"I have permission, which I doubt you have," she replied dismissively.

Hermione looked away from the smug expression on his face and refused to let him see how much being caught in this predicament by him, of all people, annoyed and enraged her. She set herself on closing the bookcase, locking it, and placing the key down on the counter before her. In a flash, it dematerialized, and she didn't have to worry about him getting his clammy hands on it. Now, if only the book would transport itself to the safety of her dorm. But that would be too easy. Instead, she clamped it against her chest and, as Malfoy's eyes roamed over her and focused in on the suspicious looking book in her arms, she grew unsure whether she was trying to protect the book or to protect herself.

"Oh please, Granger. We both know I can do what I want. I have the badge of approval," he boasted snidely, tapping the annoying silver "I" that was pinned to his cloak. Though it stood for the obnoxious brownnosing Inquisitorial Squad, all she could see was the "I" of Malfoy's enlarged ego. The moment Umbridge made that ridiculous group of bloodhounds, Draco Malfoy's already astounding amount of self-importance skyrocketed. It was a wonder his head didn't explode from the profound bloating of his brain.

"Bug off," she muttered as she tried, in vain, to rush past him. His hand yanked at the door and it swung closed behind him, sealing them in the shadows. He stared pointedly at her, a twisted and playful curve to the corner of his lips. It wasn't a smile until he saw her cheeks signal red like warning signs. Her nerves were rattled and her fingers clung tighter to the edges of the book, the leather cringing under her grip and her singed palm screaming in agony. They both knew that whatever she had in her hands was incriminating, and that fate was playing a cruel joke on her by sending him to initiate her demise.

"Malfoy, you have the entirety of the grounds to haunt so why must you insist on bothering me? Just, go find something else to entertain you," she hissed as she glared up at him, standing her ground, even though he had the power to pull the lever that would take the ground out from under her. He was relishing in that fact, too, as he crept closer to her with hands so calmly resting in his pockets and his body completely at ease. He wasn't even trying to act like he needed to block her from escaping. It was then that she realized what else was inside his pocket: the key to the door. She'd left it inside the lock, not even thinking to take it with her- she was in such a hurry. She glanced briefly at the door, trying to hide the frantic nature of her search, and noticed that it was sealed shut.

"Ah, well, I might have already found that something," he breathed, too close for comfort. She refused to look at him, but she could feel his searching eyes watching her face for a spot of weakness that he could jab into. For one reason or another, her face was growing even more flushed than it usually got when she was angry, and the unnecessary nearness of his presence in combination with his retort made her chest clench. And then, his hand rose and she jerked away from the possibility of touch. His finger lightly tapped on the top corner of the book she was carrying. She foolishly relaxed when she realized he hadn't been aiming for her skin.

"Hands off, Malfoy. Only I have permission to hold onto this. Wouldn't want it getting into the wrong hands, and so on. Besides, I find it hard to believe that you find reading books entertaining," Hermione stated, hoping he wouldn't hear how much his closeness unsettled her.

He feigned insult, retracting his hand from the book to put it to the place his heart allegedly was. "You think so ill of me. Well, consider me both shocked and appalled at your assumptions, Granger. I will have you know that I am extremely interested in books, especially those that I'm told I cannot read," he replied with an insinuating glance towards the one she was determined to keep out of his reach.

"I'm not saying you can't, just that I'm not allowed to let it leave my possession until I return it." His lips pursed, his face souring at her composure.

"What's it for?" His other hand shot out of his pocket and his arms crossed. She wasn't leaving this room anytime soon.

"Research," came the curt response. His eyebrows shot up.

"Oh? For what? I doubt you need that for any of your classes, especially with the curriculum Umbridge has put into place," Malfoy countered, haughtiness smeared over his features.

Hermione breathed in deeply, tried to swallow down the fire in her throat, but he was always triggering these kinds of attacks on her system. "Oh, you know, just trying to keep a few paces ahead of the people trying to kill me and my friends," she shot. "Thanks to you and your precious Umbridge, we no longer have the facilities to practice defense so I'm doing the next best thing: research."

"Are you seriously still pressed about that? Merlin, Granger, unwind your knickers and stop being such a sore loser. You broke the rules, you got caught- and I feel you're about to be caught yet again."

"And what makes you say that?" She bit out, and wished she could just bite off her tongue.

"Well, for one, the only person with access to that bookcase is the headmaster or headmistress," Malfoy pointed out with a grin, "and seeing as that is currently Dolores Umbridge who unfortunately, but reasonably, despises you… I, for one, doubt she would have given you permission to take a book from there."

"No one said I took this book from there." He looked at her dubiously, amused. "I got it from one of the other shelves, the ones I'm allowed access to," she tried to reason, her cheeks sucked in, her teeth gnawing on her gums, and her eyes staring avidly at the bookshelves she was referencing to. She could almost see the word _Liar _scrawl itself in the small space between them. But, instead of saying this outright, Malfoy played along with an almost, dare it be said, genuinely amused grin occupying the space where a sneer usually appeared tattooed on his face. He took a step closer to her and she was so focused on standing by her lies that she didn't move an inch.

"I clearly caught you using a key, which only Umbridge has, to lock that bookcase," he offered yet another piece of evidence for her to rebut. She rolled her eyes in such a casual manner, he almost believed what she had to say next if her motives weren't so blindingly obvious. They both knew she had been caught. It was just a matter, at least for him, of drawing out this encounter for as long as possible.

"Someone clearly left it open and I was sensible enough to close it again."

He nodded slowly, leading her to believe that he, in turn, was duped into believing her. His lips had turned downcast into a peculiar frown that felt like defeat to her, but then it began twitching with – what? Laughter? Barely contained joy at the prospect of ruining Hermione Granger? Or, she tried to convince herself, it was just a disturbing Malfoy quirk. He raised his hand to cover his mouth, as if he'd discovered her venturing suspicions on the matter and wanted to hide the twitch, but then she could see the churnings of a smile under his hand. It unsettled her.

"You see, Granger," he cleared his throat as his hand fell from his now much more composed face. Free from the task of hiding whatever was going on with his mouth, his hand roamed where it was not allowed to go. It grasped her right hand, his fingers pressing excruciatingly into the burn that was only just settling down on her palm's skin. Her body reacted on impulse and she jerked away but his hand only grabbed tighter onto hers and pulled it between them, flipping her hand over to reveal the bright red imprint on her skin.

"See, I know of Umbridge's little trick with her favorite things, especially keys. She is quite the sinister one, with all the tampering she does to keep items from, what did you say? Oh, yes, falling into the wrong hands." As he said this, holding her struggling hand in a death's grip, his other hand reached out to trace the burn on her palm. She fought back a cry as his thumb pressed down on the innermost part of the red scar, and she could feel his eyes bearing down on her face to see the drastic change in her features. Her resolve teetered from the jolting sting of pain and the even more jolting stab of surrender. When their eyes met, she could see just how much he was relishing this.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" He asked, the false sweetness of his question making her more nauseous than she already was. His thumb retreated from its attack and countered it by skimming over the surface of her palm, leaving a trail of warmth and curiosity in wake of the pain. His eyes were watching her, and she was watching the strange proceedings on her hand with a mixture of anger, anxiety and anticipation. Recollecting herself from the swarm of nerves that had overwhelmed her the second he'd grabbed her hand, she balled said hand into a fist and yanked it out of his reach while also taking a step away from his influence.

"That proves nothing," she hissed as she glared at him in stubborn defiance.

"Oh, but on the contrary, it proves everything. You would have needed Umbridge's key to close that bookcase properly, as I saw you do, but that key would have had to have been in your possession the entire time. And I assume you know why that would've been, Granger," he mocked her, his eyes falling back to the hand she had shot into one of her pockets the second it was free of him. Her wand was in that pocket and she could feel it prodding at her, too. If she wanted to, she could shut his trap right then and there but there was that whisper of reason in her head telling her not to. It would be stepping on the dragon's tail, it said to her. And, despite hating the feel of him stepping on her own tail over and over again, she had had her fill of getting burned.

"Alright then, if you feel so confident about it, why aren't you dragging me back to Umbridge? I'm sure you're dying to see what your reward will be," she muttered bitterly and to which he laughed.

"Now, where would the fun be in that? Besides, I have other things in mind for my reward other than that psychotic hag's praise," he replied, shrugging dismissively, as if Umbridge didn't currently supply the bread and butter of his lavish existence. She rolled her eyes, glaring at the door behind him with hopes of running through it, and thoroughly missing his quiet approach closer to her. A little too late, she felt his shadow encroach and began to step back again when his hand grabbed hold of the book she still clung to with one arm wrapped around it. Foolishly, she clutched it tighter to her chest and consequently trapped his fingers. With the thud of her actions, they were both taken by surprise and, while she tried to calm the stutter in her chest that arose from the pressure of a part of his hand against her chest, he could feel that stutter beat against the bones in his fingers along with the nagging pain of having his hand squashed. Yet, instead of anger pulsing through his veins, he found himself amused at her continued perseverance. He eyed her pointedly, glancing back down to the book he had a partial hold on to relay what his mouth had yet the will to say. He had ideas brewing in his head but no words to explain them just yet.

"Hands off, Malfoy," Hermione warned again, refusing the implied command his eyes were signaling. She would rather be hauled off to Umbridge than give him this book.

Finally, the witch's words triggering him, he found his words. His hand clamped tighter on the book and yanked, forcing himself to abandon the snug space he'd briefly occupied against her chest. He pried the book out of her grasp, to her vocalized dismay, and held it above his head as she tried to reach for it in vain. He took a certain amount of pleasure in seeing the blood rise to her cheeks again. Her hands retreated back to her sides where they balled up with frustration. Notably, she refused to look as defeated as she actually was. It only served to invigorate him further.

"Neither one of us has a right to that book. So, if anything, it should back in the bookcase," she tried to reason with him after she noticed his keen interest in the book, if only because she was interested in it. He smirked, lowering the book from its great height and deciding to browse through it at his own leisure – as if it wasn't nearing curfew, or maybe because it was nearing curfew and he was hoping to get her in even more trouble than he already anticipated for her. She glared at him, but he wasn't paying her any mind at all until she tried to make a move for the book again. He veered out of her way, a tease of a smile on his mouth as he did so. This was all just a big game to him. That became abundantly clear to her, and it made her shake with rage.

"Put it back, Malfoy," she growled. Finally, his head rose and he looked at her, studied the flares of anger that had soared over her features. He quite enjoyed how the redness highlighted the splatter of freckles that were splayed across her face like a spray of ink on paper. He chuckled to himself, looking down briefly to collect his thoughts on this entire situation before rising to her challenge with his own.

"How about… no?" He suggested instead. As predicted, her chest inflated with hot air. "I was actually planning on asking if I could borrow this and since it's already out, I might as well keep it for a while. Besides, the key is gone so I can't possibly return it now. Perhaps I'll return it tomorrow, but then I would have to tell Umbridge how I acquired it in the first place," as he casually stated this, Hermione's back stiffened with the implied threat. He smiled at her acknowledgement of it and continued. "I see you understand my hesitation, then, on returning it to its rightful place. Instead," he paused to bask in the hatred she was throttling towards him with her eyes, "Instead, I would like to propose a deal."

Hermione bit down on her tongue, as she could feel something vile accumulating in her throat in response to his guile. Then, her attention was scattered as she heard the distinct sound of heels approaching the closed door and she was reminded of the librarian and the supposed time. Her eyes flew back to the book. "Go on and be quick about it, Malfoy," she spat, her attention split and allowing him an advantage over her. He could hear the approaching librarian as well and made quick work of closing the distance between them, his ear hovering over Hermione's ear and stunning her into attention at once.

"These are the terms," he drawled, and she became very aware that he didn't care if a staff member found them like this and that she cared very much. The doorknob was jiggling and she heard a voice from outside calling her name. She pressed her hands against Malfoy's chest to push him away but he didn't budge, one of his hands even daring to seal hers in place against him. "You can have your way, do whatever you want with... whatever this book is called, but only after I get to have a bit of fun myself."

"Miss Granger?"

"Malfoy, get to the point," she pushed past gritted teeth as her heart clawed its way up her throat at the sound of the librarian's voice and the following clatter of keys as the woman looked for her copy for the door's lock. She refused to believe that the chaos wreaking havoc on her body had anything to do with the laugh Malfoy breathed against her ear and neck.

"Alright, alright. Here's the deal: You get the book back after I get to peruse it myself. Give me a day or two, I'm quick, and then you can come and get it."

By the sound of his voice, she knew there was something else and there wasn't much time left for him to spit it out before they were both caught much too close to curfew in a rather uncomfortable position that she wanted desperately to be out of. She shoved again at his chest, as the key was placed into the lock.

"Of course, some payment will be due since I so kindly decided not to rat you out." He was rushing, feeling too that their time was running out here, and she felt lightheaded from the blasts of warmth that wafted over her from his frenzied whispers. "Nod if you understand," he demanded as the lock clicked, signaling to all of them that the door was primed for opening.

When she nodded, her ear brushed against his lips. Her fingers dug into his shirt.

"Good, because a kiss is all it will take for you and your book to be reunited," the flurry of words blew through her as the door opened and suddenly there was a gapping space between them. The librarian looked first to the new arrival that was Draco Malfoy and then to Hermione with a baffled tweak to her eyebrows. Malfoy was all smiles as he breezed past the old witch, tipping the book to her as if it were the brim of a hat and casting a humored glance back at Hermione that made her blood boil over. _Deal's a deal_, he mouthed and was gone with her book in tow. A deal was most definitely a deal, and she felt as if she'd signed off with the devil himself.

"Miss Granger?" Hermione snapped back, the red flood draining from her eyes, as she looked to the concerned face of the librarian who'd been trying to tell her that curfew had been put into place two minutes ago. "I would suggest you hurry along now and return my key."

She was about to object, saying she didn't have it in her possession since that spoiled brat had taken it from her, when she realized there was something in one of the hands Malfoy had seized. Pressed against the aching, but receding burn, was a key. It wasn't just the key to the restricted section. It was the key to Malfoy's riddle of a deal, or so it seemed to Hermione. Long after she'd returned it and left the library, hastening as she went in order to avoid another confrontation, the now scarring burn Malfoy had placed the key on reminded her of the deal she'd only partially known when she agreed to it. Still, it could be argued that she really had no option other than to agree to it but, nonetheless, she'd been fooled. She knew very well that the deal Malfoy had struck was to keep her at bay forever. He knew it would drive her mad, knowing that the book would never be in her grasp again because how could that deal ever be taken seriously? He might as well have said "when pigs fly and I learn the meaning of humility, you can have it back." Maybe even that would have been partially a better deal than the one she was given. She mulled over that in bed that night, at breakfast the next morning, in classes and throughout the day without bothering to take note of the scant but meaningful glances Malfoy pointed her way whenever their crosses passed. She was too consumed within the cloud of frustration and gloom that covered her in the days that followed to realize whenever Malfoy was in the room. She barely realized when her own friends were talking to her. Her mind's eye was too diligently focused on a way to get that book back, without entertaining the deal at all. It was a joke, anyways.

So, when two days later, a letter found its way onto her desk during Charms Hermione didn't even entertain the name that ended up scrawled atop the parchment. Her lunch churned in her stomach as she peered at the writing before her, not even reading past the name, and turned to search over her shoulder for the pen and hand that had written it. She found Draco Malfoy leering in the back, surrounded by a posse of Slytherins that eyed Hermione in a very different manner than he was. His hand rose and his fingers gave a sleek little wave before pointing at the letter she still clutched in her hands. Turning abruptly with a huff, she tried to focus on the words he'd scrawled down without seeing that flood of red again. She could feel Harry besides her, eying the paper with curiosity, so she pulled it closer to herself to save herself the embarrassment of whatever reaction this stupid letter would elicit.

_Draco Malfoy cordially invites Hermione Granger's lips to his dormitory whenever they see fit to seal the previously agreed upon deal. Directions as to how to get –_

She couldn't hold back the floodgates, and the room before her was splattered in red. She'd kill him. She swore to herself, possibly even aloud if the look on Harry's face was any indication, that she would kill him one way or another for taunting her in such a fashion. She could envision him now, just sitting there in the back row watching her hunched shoulders shake and laughing to himself about his own cleverness. She wanted to jab his wand down his throat but settled for crumpling up the letter and, when she noted that the professor was not looking, tossed it back at him. It hit him like a bull's-eye, right in that boasting, jeering face of his and she was so satisfied with her aim and his surprise at her attack that she didn't care that the rest of the class was looking at her strangely. She gave him a steel grin before promptly turning about in her seat and ignoring Harry's raised eyebrows in favor of continuing her studious notes. However, once class was dismissed, the questions began.

"So, about Malfoy," he started the second they stepped over the threshold. She heaved a sigh and continued walking, her pace quickening to get away from the room as fast as possible and, possibly, also to get away from Harry. His long and gangly legs, however, let him keep up with her quite easily. "That bad?"

Her arms constricted around her books, much like how she envisioned them constricting around Malfoy's neck. "Yes, that bad."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No, not particularly. No," she replied briskly. Harry nodded in compliance, fiddling with his glasses as a distraction from the questions poking at his tongue. They'd managed to walk for a few good seconds before he broke.

"Was it about the DA?" He asked to her annoyance. "If anyone could win an award for beating a dead horse, it would be him," he muttered with distaste, as they made their way towards the dormitories. The thought of "dorm" made her stomach lurch all over again. _The nerve of him_, her mind screamed. Her cheeks burned as her eyes burned with the memory of that letter.

"No, he's found something new to torture me with. I don't think I told you, but I had intended on getting a particular book that I read about last year. I thought it would be a good reference for DA practice, before they found out about us, and figured it could still be of some use now," Hermione rambled, her words heavy with agitation. "But, because of its nature, it wasn't exactly accessible. I'd gotten Dumbledore's permission earlier in the year, but had delayed in getting it. That was my first mistake," she sighed. By now, they were in front of The Fat Lady, who was gearing to do yet another rendition of a song Hermione had no patience to hear. Harry cut her short with the password and she was free to continue spilling to Harry.

"You had to ask Umbridge?"

"Because I would do that." Harry grimaced. They plopped down in front of the fireplace and, once she was sure no one was nearby to overhear, she continued. "I needed the key, which was now her key. Easily enough I made up some reason to go there – I think I went up for O.W.L preparation sheets. As she was complaining about whatever gave her reason to complain, Merlin knows what that vile woman goes on about, I managed to snatch the thing. I should have known there was a reason why it was so easy to get."

"Was it a trap?"

"Harry, please." He rolled his eyes and stared into the fire to keep himself occupied. "It was hexed. Burned like a hot iron, or at least it kept heating up until it got to that point. Thankfully, I let it go while I was still in the room and it disappeared midair, only to reappear on the desk where I found it. That's how I knew to keep a hold of it, but it ended up burning my hand well enough. Anyway, I stole the key and Malfoy naturally found me using it in the restricted section. Stole the book from me, in turn, and has been taunting me about it since."

Harry absorbed everything with a calm Hermione envied, with only a slight frown indicating negative emotion. His frown slowly grew until it was a deep wrinkle in his face. "What I don't get is why he didn't turn you into Umbridge. What's he getting at?"

What was he getting at, indeed. She groaned, slapped a hand to her face, and sank further into the sofa, wishing she could dissolve into it. "He wants the book for himself. He found it 'convenient' that I managed to get it for him so his hands are dirt-free. I haven't been able to sleep a wink knowing he's been pouring over it."

It was as if the switch had finally gone off in Harry's brain as he put two and two together. "Hermione, there's a reason that was behind two different sets of locks. We need to get that book back from him."

She peered at her friend from under her hand. "You don't think I know that? It isn't exactly the easiest thing to do, seeing as he's got it locked up in his dormitory and is expecting some kind of trick from me. It would be one thing if Dumbledore was here but, well…"

They sat in silence, the cracks and kindling of the fire the only thing to fill in the rest of that particular sentence. Ever since the DA had been disassembled and Dumbledore had vanished, there had been a lingering silence within the school walls that permeated every conversation, every student, every thought. And for Hermione Granger, there was a heavy silence surrounding the question: what to do with Draco Malfoy? For years, the answer had been quite apparent. Just ignore him. Like any other pest, he'd become background noise but it seemed he was trying to come back into the forefront of her attention. He was certainly trying to seize every moment of her day and wrap it up in thoughts about his annoying presence. From hunting her and her friends down in the hall and pestering them about the DA, making it his pitiful life mission to destroy the DA and then goading her about it whenever she made the mistake of making eye contact with him in the halls, to his current game of dangling that damned book in her face. From that day onward, she continued to be burdened by letters and condescending remarks in the hallway and classroom that grew more frequent by the passing time. She settled into believing that he was trying to tempt her into lashing out so that she'd have to deal with detention with Umbridge. And, for a while, she was able to bottle it all up for a later date that would, hopefully, never come. She went each day without anything more than a scowl in his direction, even when he made provoking smooching sounds and faces at her that made Harry and Ron's eyes bug out and mouths fill with questions she was extremely resistant to answering. She wouldn't even confide with Ginny, in fear of that bottle of hers exploding. And, for a while, she was proud of herself at staying steadfast. Until the morning she woke up from the vision of dark smoke and white hair, of Harry's face torn in agony, of feeling and smelling the foul breath of a deatheater smother her as he held her in place with a wand at her throat, of the foreboding presence of Voldemort.

That morning, she rose with fire licking her feet and did not fear the burn as she left her room, and unpacked luggage, with a plan set in her mind and set into motion.

It was still quite early, the light moving slowly across the hall floor as the sun rose on the last day at Hogwarts. Most students were still in their dorms, brushing up on last minute packing, so Hermione was free to roam the halls without getting stopped or questioned as to why she was heading for the dungeons. With the taunting letters still scorched into her mind's eye, she recited the password Malfoy had given her with the confidence that it would be the real one. The stone wall gave way, and she was granted entrance. As she entered, a few silent scornful faces stared in astonishment and distaste as she made her way through the common room and followed the way towards the boys' dormitory. She heard a few calls behind her, demanding her to stop, but she paid them no heed. She barely felt the floor under her feet as she turned into the branched off area for the rooms and stared with unwavering determination when she spotted Malfoy packing solemnly by his bed. There were three other boys, though Hermione didn't have room in her mind to bother with them, and they remarked on her entrance.

"What're you doing here, mudblood?" One hissed from the foot of his bed. Malfoy, having not noticed Hermione's entrance froze over his trunk. He turned, his eyes widening at the sight of her. When one of the boys made a move to advance towards her, he raised a hand to stop them without taking his eyes off the daring Gryffindor. They hesitated, teetering between their own to-pack items and the intruder. Hermione finally paid them mind, her eyes shooting out at them.

"Get out," she ordered to all the wizards' astonishment. One, she thought perhaps it was Goyle, began to shoot accusations at her with a reddened face but Malfoy proved to her that perhaps her plan would work.

"Stay out of my business and get out," he barked at them and, with that, his remaining peers filed out into the common room. With the room cleared of the others, Hermione's stoic face melted away and a playful smile took form. His discomfort, in turn, shifted, though his overall mood was still as gloomy as when she entered. He still eyed her with a tinge of suspicion, and as he observed her, she chanced to observe her surroundings and the trunk he leaned against. Her smile grew.

"If you're here to goad about my father's imprisonment, you can save it for another rainy day. I've had my fill," Malfoy stated warily, eyeing her the closer she approached him. She moved with a tranquility that couldn't help but be contagious, but also worrisome. He couldn't help but wonder at why she was here, and to keep certain hopes from bubbling forth. As if hearing his thoughts, she gave a little laugh.

"Oh, I'm sure you have. Though, that won't keep me from thinking of so, so many things to say. But, I won't because I'm not cruel," she reminded him with a raised brow. "I'm surprised you don't know why I'm here, seeing as you're the one who invited me."

And his hopes bubbled up and boiled over. He suppressed a victorious grin. She spotted the tweak of his lips and took it as encouragement to go on. And go on, she did.

"You weren't actually thinking of leaving with that book? You promised you'd give it to me," she mentioned reproachfully with pursed lips.

He couldn't suppress the grin any longer. "Well, I promised under a certain condition that you have yet to fulfill."

"I thought you were joking. You always like to toy with me," she shot, folding her arms and getting flustered all over at the thought of the last few weeks. At ease, he shrugged in response.

"It's fun to do, but I wasn't joking. Not a bit." She grimaced at that, shaking her head at her own narrow-mindedness. He watched her, feeling for the first time that day a spark of the excitement only she seemed to elicit. It was a welcomed feeling, especially now. She knew this, too, as she focused back onto him and took steps towards him. She would not let her determination waver even when the flutter of nerves in her belly threatened to turn into a swarm. He stood straighter, each step she took pulling his puppet string tighter until his spine was rigid with anticipation. He bit his tongue, tried not to look like he'd been waiting for her to give in.

"One kiss, and I get the book?" She asked for reassurance, her eyebrows raised and her brown eyes amused at the flicker of impatience that flashed across Malfoy's face. He fidgeted, made to grab her arms, but she swiftly dodged him with a step back.

"Yes, one kiss and it's yours. Though, you're welcome to splurge," he answered with a coy smile. She sighed dramatically before taking two more steps towards him, making the space between them so miniscule it would take squinting to see a sliver of distance. For Malfoy, on the other hand, there was no need for squinting. She was right there, each ink spot of a freckle perfectly in view, as well as those eyes that were inquisitively searching his. For Hermione, this was the moment she'd been waiting for a long while, though she wouldn't have admitted it to herself until she was submerged in the moment itself. She leaned into him, her hands returning to the place they'd occupied only weeks ago. She tried not to focus too much on the effect this touch had on herself, curious instead to see every reaction Malfoy allowed her to witness. Indeed, his chest hitched as her fingertips made contact and she heard the creak of his trunk as his hands clenched at the corners of it. Her hands slid from his chest and onto his straining knuckles, and she tested the waters the closer she got to her destination. His pupils were open books to her, blasting wide open as her lips neared his. His breath hissed as it came out the small parting of his lips, the clenched teeth behind those lips, and she smiled at the hold she had on him. Her hands slid behind him, and their bodies were pressed as close as they were ever going to get, at least in Hermione's mind, as Malfoy's was dancing into other areas of thought that had yet to cross into her periphery.

"Just one kiss," she breathed against him, her lips just far and close enough to his to tantalize him into insanity.

"Fine, one, that's it," he hurried her on. Her smile widened at what he thought was his impatience. But then there was a strange sensation tickling up and down his hands and, when he tried to move them, he found that his hands were stuck. As he realized this, Hermione's grin reached gloating proportions as her hands reappeared from behind them, with the book in tow. Suddenly, her body was cruelly torn away from him and he realized the treachery he'd been tricked into. She was still close enough that, if he wanted to, and oh did he, he could lean over and steal the kiss he'd been deprived of. But he had a feeling she would not allow that at all.

"We had a deal," he spat accusingly. She shrugged, mocking him with his own habitual retort.

"I never verbally agreed to anything and who's to say you wouldn't keep the book either way?" Hermione smirked, victorious when he should have been the one gloating. She was basking in his outrage, and relished the way he struggled against his unseen restraints.

"You won't be getting out of those any time soon, Malfoy. Maybe an hour or so, perhaps. The twins didn't exactly give me a time frame," she mused and he shot her a glare.

"Well then, you'll be seeing me in an hour or so," he bit out.

"Hah, doubt it. See, here's the deal: I'm leaving in a half hour. So, half an hour after that you might be free to continue packing and leave to go to whatever hole you climbed out of at the beginning of the term or to foolishly chase after me. Your choice. Either way, I get the book and you get your freedom- eventually. And that's the end. I win," she steamed, her eyes ablaze and a dark twist to her smile. "Nod if you understand."

His mouth twitched as he pulled at the trunk, too heavy with items to let him move very far. And even if he did, she was multiple steps ahead of him. He didn't know what to make of her anymore, though he knew for certain he wanted to lay his hands on her in some shape or form. She would see to it that that wouldn't happen. They both knew that already, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. And they both knew that, though only one was willing to admit it then.

"Oh, Granger, this is just the beginning," he warned and promised her. It only made her grin widen at the challenge. She left him there, struggling for an hour before he could finally wring his hands free and run through the halls in search of her. But she was long gone, with the book glowing like a trophy in her hands.

[A/N: Whoo, this has been a long time coming. So sorry to keep you waiting! Summer classes have been a drag on my schedule and this came out later than I'd anticipated, but I hope you enjoy! And, as always, please leave comments/reviews! I always love to hear your thoughts. :)]


	3. Frayed Edges

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the delay but, since school is ending for me this Friday, updates be more frequent! If you haven't noticed, I added onto the chapters a soundtrack that you can listen to on 8tracks if you so choose! You can find links for each chapter posted up on my author profile here or, if you follow me on tumblr, I have it posted on there with the chapter updates. I hope you enjoy!

Every step forward is met with resistance; there's a tug at the ankles and a push against the toes; a force that shoves angrily, stubbornly upon the body that many take for granted as they walk through life. The pressure that change stirs in the air is quiet and unseen by those who tread lightly, whose changes are minute, by those who coddle and assure the breeze before it can whirl into a storm of resistance. Careful or unaware, people push and prod the air around them so as to move forward into the future their eyes and feet are so set on reaching. The slight nudge the molecules give back, if only from being annoyed at constantly being swung like a pendulum and jabbed to the side as bodies pass by, reassert the air pocket of time people try to veer out of by walking, jogging, running, fleeing from their position in space. It gives a little thrust to keep everyone and everything in the present, as it should be. No one can walk fast enough to escape the air-tight seal, though there are those who throw themselves against the foil in hopes of tearing through. But push too hard, slam too violently against those temperamental molecules that occupy the space between now and then, and they're liable to fight back. The soft wisp of air that brushes against the cheek to remind us of the movement of life and energy around us churns in alarm and betrayal at being violated by harsh motions, by the desire of one person to break through the thin veil and rush through so rudely, so impatiently. So guiltily. In retaliation, it slaps and it throttles in an upheaval of presence and power that leaves the criminal winded and disoriented as they are flung backwards. If the present isn't good enough, if its edges are teased enough, life forces the past into view through the recoil. Push hard enough against the tense fabric and it snaps, but it snaps back in spite. In mockery.

Either way it moved, either way it shifted or stirred, it all ended up at the same bulging, haphazard, stubborn knot. Under her thumb's hard nail, the strands of yarn gave in and gave up on staying together. Hermione picked at the peculiar circle of string, the material faded with time and grayed under a fine layer of dust that she scrapped off as a side effect of her musings. Round and round, back and forth, plucking it just to see it lazily reshape itself into an oblong ring between her fingers, Hermione toyed with this little string to see how long it would be before it would break under her thumb's demands. Despite its measly appearance and the weary droop it displayed when she let go of one end, it refused to fall apart completely. Instead, since the time she'd plucked it out of the small flimsy pouch that acted as its preserver, it had developed an eerie sort of halo of frazzled, tattered material. It looked immortal, tired of its existence but persevering out of habit much like its owner.

She was unaware of the rattle of a doorknob somewhere behind her, too wrapped up inside the collapsing foil that surrounded her, and it took a familiarly earnest and easing warmth against her cheek to finally clear the haze from her mind. Even then, her mind was still lagging behind, trying to trudge through the mass of recollections that had collapsed on it, through the blood that seemed to gather from the hemorrhage the sudden collision had caused. She could hardly think past the consuming pounding in her head, see past the narrowed and muddled vision that could only keep one thing in focus.

"What'dya have there?" a voice danced upon her forehead as lips planted another kiss against her throbbing temple. Lazily, she wondered if Will would feel her swollen veins, or if he could hear the dull ache that occupied her head in the absence of company. She tried to tune it out and smile, and found that the strings she was usually able to manipulate easily would not completely pull up the edges of her lips or keep them suspended for longer than a flicker.

Hermione's fingers loosened around the tied string and she let it fall into the small cardboard box she had in front of her. Realizing she'd yet to reply, she shrugged the question off. "Just a string I found randomly between some of my old things," she breathed quaintly as she hopped off of the bar stool she'd been idling on since the night before. The sting of her heels against the smooth concrete of the kitchen floor brought the room and occupants into focus. Her vision cleared of foliage and fog, and on the stage before her eyes was the usual set provided to her when she woke up in the morning, even though she hadn't actually gone to sleep in the first place. Around her was the crisp white cabinets of her kitchen, the countertop that stretched and sharply turned into an "L" where she previously sat, the yellow kettle on the stove in front of her awaiting water, and Will briskly walking through the stage directions given to him each morning. He grabbed the kettle, a small grin moseying sleepily on his face as he filled and switched on the gas. As he turned away from her, the gray sweats he slept in caught whatever heat the sun provided as it poured in from the grand windows that lay behind them both and that made up the entirety of her apartment's east walls. Yet, once the natural particles hit the cool cabinets, the sleek countertop, the sunny kettle, the familiar back of her fiancé, every atom in the room reflected back to her an artificial aura that blinded her.

If she hadn't been momentarily stunned, she would have seen her own reflection offered to her on the bleak countertop her hands were suddenly clinging to with matching white knuckles. The spotless granite would present her through the same sleek, polished filter.

"'Old things,' she says," Will chuckled mainly to himself as he rattled through the fridge, pushing past take-out after take-out box for the jug of milk in the back. He closed the door and stood across from her, just missing the look of momentary terror that had scattered across her face. She looked down at the box, her nails scratching at the fresh ink on the side. It had once said "New Place" but the words were struck through and replaced. Her eyes stared down the word "Storage," like she might be able to transfer the visions that cluttered her view into storage as well.

"Are you still going through your stuff? You know, Hermione, we can always make room in the house for the, what? Five boxes of things you do have? It might be a tight squeeze, what with the three bedrooms, office, closets, attic space, but we can manage. Don't you think?" He pondered, his amusement clear even behind the blue mug he drank from. Finally, her lips hinted at a smile and her fingers flitted away from the box and the dangers it contained. She made a grab for the other mug Will offered over the span of counter-space between them. Glancing inside, she noted that it was just milk; the kettle was still warming up on the stove.

"I packed the cups a little too early, didn't I?" She muttered into the mug, the ripple effect of her words on the milk's surface entrancing her for a moment. She heard him snort into his own mug before there was a clank as he put it down on the counter.

"Just a bit. You actually packed these mugs up, too, a few nights ago while I was asleep, I guess, and I had to dig them out yesterday when I came home from the airport," he teased and watched her grimace. The kettle hissed and he meandered back to the stove to take it off the heat. He stood there for a moment longer than he usually did, his lips jutting out in contemplation. "By the way, where were you yesterday? I didn't hear you come in at all last night," he mentioned without turning. Without the kettle making noise to fill the space between them, the silence made the atmosphere tense. Or at least, it felt so to her for reasons she would not confess to herself, let alone to Will. She bit her bottom lip and squeezed a small drop of milk between her teeth.

"I was out with Ginny, cake tasting, shopping, and then planning at her house for a while. I lost track of time, I guess," she replied casually, though she could feel the fray in her voice through the rough taste it left on her tongue. He seemed not to hear it, as he had no real reason to suspect a lie, and laughed as he turned back to her.

"That friend of yours has a talent for keeping you away from me," he commented lightly, his eyebrow cocked in mock disdain. It was true that Ginny had consumed Hermione's time whenever she was near. To Will, she was an overly attentive friend who had been in Hermione's life so long that it seemed impossible to share her time with anyone other than Ginny. To Hermione, Ginny was a friend who felt robbed of a lifetime of companionship. To both, she was not easy to shake off. But, Hermione had been able to shake her off long enough to spend time away from the two main dominating forces of her present life, and to spend that time shaking off a dominating force of her past.

"She's making up for the time she's bound to lose when we go on our honeymoon," Hermione reasoned with a small, mechanical laugh. She mocked looking at her watch, and jerked the mug away from her lips in a display of remembrance. He eyed her curiously. "Speaking of which, if I want to ever go on that amazing honeymoon you planned for us," she oozed and was rewarded by Will's dashing roll of the eyes and smile, "I have to be extremely prompt to work."

She placed her mug on the counter, next to the blank space that was supposed to contain the breakfast she hadn't eaten, and placed a hasty kiss on Will's expecting lips. She made to move away but arms reached over the counter to hold her in place a little while longer as he snuck another, more wistful kiss from her. His thumbs ran over the small span of skin that peeked out from her blouse as she leaned over, and elicited a sigh out of her that she hadn't expected to come out. For a fleeting moment, her view sharpened and she saw him and the future he promised. His hair was dark brown, not bleached like her surroundings and the ocean of memories that throttled about in her head. His eyes were caramel, warm and inviting and sweet, not silver like the metal that hardened her heart. His smile was open, honest and eager, not closed and skewed by the weight of secrets. He filled her with peace, not dread, and she wished he could fill her up completely. She wished his touch could press the pressure away; that his lips could brush over her forehead as they did now and wipe away the tension that creased them. She wished these things, and knew that his will and hers combined was still not powerful enough to overcome the storm that was brewing within the confines of her mind.

She didn't say goodbye as she seized the small box and rushed from the apartment, fearing the heavy implications of the word and how it would push her over into certain depths she did not want to consider. She was saving that word for some other time, for some other person, in hopes that then the weight of its meaning would have built up to such an overbearing immensity that it would cripple the one she spoke it to. That was, if she could manage to utter the word. It had lingered at the back of her throat, dangling on the uvula, clinging and hanging there for so many years that she'd forgotten the pain it inflicted as it fought with claws to stay where it was. It refused to be said and festered in rebellion against her but, with her past foiling in on her present, she was determined to shake it loose.

As her mind buzzed and pounded away, she headed for her office building and did not remember the box she held in her hands until she was forced to figure out a way to open the door. She frowned, the lines of her face drawn haggardly around her mouth and temples.

She'd forgotten to toss it in the trash outside her apartment complex.

Sighing, she dropped it to the floor carelessly and fumbled through the cluttered halls of her mind to remember the pin for the door. It was as she cautiously maneuvered about her head that the dull pounding grew shockingly pronounced, rattling and splitting the mental halls until she was falling between the cracks. She let out a small groan, crouching with hands to her head, as if trying to protect herself from an overhead collapse or gale. Behind closed eyelids, she was swarmed in darkness that likened to the pit she felt she was being thrown and crushed into. The only prevailing notion she had of the outside world was the feel of the concrete scrapping against her exposed knees. And then, like an ill-fated hand that meant more harm than help, a voice came to her that she could not truly distinguish as coming from inside or outside the darkness.

"I would have helped you with the door but, alas, I appear to be more useless than usual," the crisp, almost callous voice called out as it reeled her out of the pit. She opened her eyes uneasily, flinching against the harsh light that washed over the cracks in her head. The first thing she saw was that wretched box, meek yet taunting in the way it simply sat in front of her. It seemed, as it had fallen, so had she. She put her hands out in front of her and pushed herself up, blocked out the polished leather shoes that teased her periphery, and brushed herself off. Aggravated scraps blared red on her knees, and a similar color of rage collected at the edges of her vision as she shoved the box under her arm and stabbed the numbers on the door's lock. It squeaked in submission and she yanked the door open, rushing in with a visible determination not to acknowledge the presence that casually followed her into the foyer. It followed as she waved a brisk hello to the security officer at the desk, as she stepped into the elevator and attempted to shut the door on it by slamming her thumb into the button she'd hoped would free her of the throbbing presence, as she waited on the elevator in silent anger and anguish, and as she flew through the office with barely a muttered greeting and as she shut herself into the small corner room she'd worked herself up to through one year of training and three years of labor.

"Cozy little bit of space. Bland. Then again, I always did see you ending up in one of these four-walled establishments. Didn't think it would be this, but that's what happens when you have expectations," the voice in her head continued to egg and egg behind closed doors. She clasped the edge of her dingy desk, her nails filling the half-moon holes they'd left there on previous bouts of chaos. She had her eyes closed, preserving the illusion that the voice was simply a voice, nothing more. There was not a corpse attached to the words that cluttered the air around her. There was not a pair of black leather shoes, a suit that had funeral tones etched into the stitching, a pale and solid body filling it and animating it, a slopped pair of lips that allowed lies to slip and slide off of them, a fury of cold silver staring down at her from a height she'd always hated for its advantages and adored for reasons she would not entertain. The disembodied voice tried to fill her once more with images and the shadow of the figure that spoke, but she resisted tooth and nail against it. She pushed at the corners of her mind, trying to push him back into the cracks he'd burst through, but ended up falling through them instead.

Under the pressure of her attempts to escape the present, the corners countered bitterly and throttled her into the past instead.

"_You're dead. I watched you die," she stumbled to say, hoping that maybe the words would force Draco to return to his imprisonment in her mind, in his grave. He simply smiled at her, the corners of his lips lacking the spirit of happiness necessary for a healthy, real smile. _

"_Interesting observations, as always Hermione, but the one I'm just dying to talk about is why the ring on your finger isn't the one I gave you on our wedding day."_

_Of all the things to mention. Of all the things to care about at that particular moment. Of all the things to stun Hermione even further into silence, he would point to the cold metal encasing that wrapped around her finger. It had always had a peculiar weight to it that she was not used to, especially in comparison to the one she'd used to wear. Of course, she had not worn the first ring of two very long before she'd torn it off her finger and cast it aside with all the other things that burned her flesh with memory. Of course, she hadn't expected the man who had given her the first ring to confront her about it, and to do it now, here, as he leaned against the headstone that bore his own name. He appeared to be at the height of leisure, despite his status as the living dead, and watched her with patience he markedly never had in life. Perhaps they both entertained the synchronized thought that death made the most intolerant quite patient. If they had both thought this, as it had been habit of the two of them to think of things simultaneously - before the events that lead to Draco's death -, they did not speak it out loud. Instead, Hermione tried hard to visually digest the sight before her. And Draco tried to let her, for as long as he could stand the silence, which had been a very persistent mark of his existence since his burial. If she paid him any mind, she would have seen the insistent tapping of his foot. He persistently nudged his heel against the chilled stone of his grave marker. He didn't feel the cold or the pain it should have caused to constantly hit the hard surface._

"_I see I must have shocked you," he remarked dryly as the silence dragged on. She blinked, his voice tugging her out of the gaping hole she'd stumbled into as she tried to walk her way to reason. She shook her head, her fingers unknowingly going to the ring he'd brought to the forefront and twirling it about. It rubbed harshly against the skin of her ring finger and the dull pain helped to bring her up to reality, from the trenches she thought she'd safely filled with dirt. _

"_I've gone crazy. I've finally lost it," she muttered to herself. Her eyes still refused to meet his, after the initial contact, and racked the leaves on the ground for the semblance of sanity she thought she'd dropped among them. Because she was avoiding looking at the supposed hallucination, she didn't see Draco roll his eyes in exasperation. One could imagine he wasn't very happy that everything was turning out to be about her when here he was, tapping and sitting on his grave._

_He sighed and hopped off the headstone he'd sidled onto during her silence and murmured ramblings. "You're not crazy, Hermione, despite the many times I've said it to be true," he threw out as a flitting assurance. It did the reverse._

"_If I'm not crazy, then you're a ghost and, if you are, you don't look like any ghost I've ever encountered before," she bit back, suddenly growing bitter. Her face morphed from what they both thought would be permanent horror to a look of aggravation. She was mulling over something in her head, and he could see an argument forming in her eyes word by word as if she were bickering with herself. Perhaps she was crazy. Just not in the way she was imagining._

"_Well," Draco sighed with a grin that tipped Hermione off his approaching ego. "It wouldn't be the first time I've stunned you with my charming unpredictability."_

_It was that familiarity that irked her. Unlike the dream version of him that had terrorized her, this Draco was much more real despite obviously being a figment of her catatonic imagination. Despite the fact that he was standing on the same ground she'd helped lower him into; despite the fact that, as he walked and approached her when she once again fell silent, his feet left no impact on the leaves they treaded on; despite the fact that he was irreversibly dead, his manner and appearance was horribly alive. He was not the replica one envisions through the haze of nostalgia or remorse. He was not the idea of Draco Malfoy. He was the man in true form. It struck her, curdled her blood and made her cells scream in their containment, how true to form he really was, without the gloss of perfection or imagination that had made him the man that lurked in her dreams. He did not walk as straight as they had both proudly envisioned. He had a slight slouch to his shoulders, a braced curve that had formed sometime between his father's imprisonment and the war and that had deepened the further he'd trudged in time. Draco's clothes and shoes, the pride and joy of his materialistic mind, were not as prime and proper as he would have liked them. There were dim but present scuffmarks edging the leather of his black Oxfords. His dark pants were a smidge too high up, from being an old pair he'd quickly grabbed without noticing the difference it would make in his appearance in heated moments before the battle. The light grey shirt wasn't tucked in as well as he would have liked, and there were creases, wrinkles towards the bottom that drove him mad in life and had apparently come to taunt him in death. The dress robe he should have adorned at his funeral was absent because of the rushed nature of the burial. He even had the first two buttons of his shirt undone, though for what reason she didn't know. His hair was a mess, fussed left and right without the help of the gel she used to suspect he kept in a pocket for emergencies. There were battle lines etched into the corners of his eyes and lips, and his skin lacked the luster it had held before the war, during the period in which she drew her memories of him from when she did dare to think of him. This Draco Malfoy was too real to be imagined, but he was too dead to be real._

"_Is it really so surprising that I'm too stubborn to actually leave?" He murmured, the words so close, she could just briefly bring back to memory the impact his breath would have made on her cheeks. Finally, her eyes met his and he was so near to her, she wondered that if she simply stepped forward he might be reabsorbed into her body. She wondered at having him gone because there was only pain in having him this close, with not even an echo of his warmth to provide her some comfort. She did not feel body heat, or flushed breath, or even hear the beating of a heart that was not, could not be there. The only sensations that swept over her were the consuming fear that she had lost her mind, and the aching regret in coming to this minefield and stepping on the hidden trap that annihilated her defenses._

"_When you put it like that, it isn't really surprising at all that you'd stick to my mind like extremely annoying glue." His eyes narrowed as she spoke, the odd smile that was in place since the moment he'd appeared wiped out by a stern line of irritation. He did not move away from her but, rather, leaned closer to get a good, solid look into the mind she kept saying he'd come out of. He tried not to pay any thought to the way Hermione stumbled backwards, avoiding the mere possibility of touch as one would avoid the hounds of Hell, but failed. It sprouted fire under his feet and he snapped shut the distance between them once more._

"_I'm tickled you would be so enamored with me as to keep me in such spotless detail inside your bulging brain, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not put off with how adamantly you're denying my existence. It may not look like it, but my self-esteem isn't what it used to be and I'd prefer if you'd start believing what I'm trying to say here. Especially since I've had a rough enough time getting through to you, in the first place," he retaliated smoothly, though the edges of his voice were tattered with hints of the frustration he held at bay. All the while, the ring that appeared to him seared on her finger scorched his brain._

_She blinked and again that bitterness bubbled under the surface. "And what are you trying to say, exactly? That you're a ghost? Because, you're obviously not alive or this," she suddenly whipped her hand across his face. Instead of making contact, it went straight through without even leaving a wisp of a trail in its wake. Despite feeling no physical pain, he flinched and recoiled. "That would have made an effect," she said spitefully._

"_Oh, it had an effect," he muttered, trying to gather his thoughts about him before she could shoot more combative questions and accusations at him. She was waiting expectantly, her feet too solidly planted to the ground. It was as if she were trying to cement herself so she wouldn't run._

"_I don't exactly like being reminded of my," he fumbled for a moment and huffed in mock amusement as he looked down at himself, "current state, but if you must ask… I suppose I'm neither."_

"_Neither?" The word fell flat between them._

"_For someone so smart, you do feign not to know the meaning of certain words," he jeered. Her chest puffed up. Just as quickly as she inflated, she deflated with a look of exhausted defeat._

"_I'm bickering with a figment of my own imagination. This is pathetic," she shot to herself, eying the gravestone behind the both of them. Half of it was blocked out by his very solid looking body. As she looked beyond him, and tried and failed to look through him, she felt that unnerving throbbing in her head return with such rigor that she visibly cringed._

"_I am not a figment of your anything, so stop trying to put me away into one of those half-assed jails you've made in your head!" He howled in rage and the pounding amplified with each syllable he pointed towards her. She pressed her palms to her temples, and could roughly make out her own voice crying for it to stop._

_And like that, it did. The ringing and slamming in her mind dissolved into a dull hum. Her vision refocused and she saw in clear resolution the vivid horror that was etched onto Draco's face, and the hand he had reached out and frozen in the space dividing them. When he noticed what he was about to do, or about to try to do, he almost smiled but burden weighed too heavy for his lips to lift. His arm moved back to his side and his useless hands were shoved roughly into his pockets._

"_I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I won't do it again."_

_She tried to collect herself but was stunned by his apology, and not just because it was an endangered species. "You did that?"_

_He shuffled his feet and looked over his shoulder at the slab of stone that had hung over his head for too long. "I felt you trying to get rid of me, so I pushed back. I didn't know it would hurt you," he murmured thoughtfully. He turned to watch her as this soaked in. He knew it was going against what he'd argued, and laughed at himself. "Your pretty little brain there refuses to help me, so I have to work my way out of the pit. I haven't exactly worked out all of the kinks."_

"_So, you're in my head."_

_He sighed haggardly, and one of his frantic hands, bored with his pockets, ran through his hair. "Not exactly. Not entirely. I'm not imaginary, if that's what you're going to go for."_

"_Sounds like something my imagination would say," she probed, confident that he wouldn't lash out again if it meant causing her physical pain. She could see his irritation rise, but he bit on the inside of his cheek and breathed slowly to remind himself of his limitations of exertion._

"_Fine. I'll prove it to you by providing facts you couldn't possibly know, and so you couldn't possibly have them fermenting in that brain of yours."_

_She didn't bother to suppress the grin on her face. It felt too good. "Go ahead. Convince away."_

"_I used to carry gel in my pocket, for emergencies," he spouted. She laughed coarsely at that one._

"_Suspected that."_

_He puffed up. "Okay, fine." He went on to list various things about himself that either Hermione knew by heart or had dormant suspicions about that lingered in her heart and mind. That was the trick about finding someone as they found each other. Everything stuck, and fit together in such a way that it was easy to figure out any possible missing pieces. If the roles were reversed, he would have snorted at every turn and snidely commented at knowing her better than she knew herself. And she could have said the same for him. They filled each other's gaps, which had inevitably left quite the hole when he'd gone. It was a hole that her mind was so transparently trying to fill with this excruciating hallucination._

_He heaved like an engine out of gas and will power._

"_Anything else? I don't feel very convinced," she remarked coyly. She tried to see the humor and intelligence behind the manifestation her mind had created for her. It was a manifestation that was so crisp in appearance, it almost fooled her into believing in its reality. That was, until it heaved or sighed or groaned and the gust she was so used to having brush against her and excite her nerves into frenzied action made its presence so painfully and blaringly absent._

_The manifestation gritted its teeth._

"_Just one thing," it seethed, but she was too wrapped up in mentally laughing at herself to notice the danger in the tone._

"_Please, do go on."_

"_I love you, even now."_

_The slash of the words slapped her into attention. Her body went rigid as the corpse he was supposed to be and that rush of anger she'd tried to hold at bay toppling over at her all at once. So it was guilt that had brought this on. It was her mind and soul's guilt that had resurrected this man at this time, in this place. Her heart would not let him go, even now. _

"_You loved me," she corrected coldly._

"_Ah, and that, my dear, that right there shows just how little you actually know." His resentment clung and scratched at her, and she was throttled further into that inner turmoil she had divulged in earlier. Her eyes watered and burned, as his words did, and they both felt her mind creaking shut. His eyes widened at the tug that pulled him away with the closing doors, but he forced himself not to fight. When she shut her eyes, it was not to shut out the pain of a throbbing mind but of a throbbing heart. Hermione refused to watch him once more be lowered into darkness. But though she could not see, she could still feel as he sunk away under her pushing hands. _

_When she forced her eyes open, it was to see the gravestone staring back at her in Draco's place. _

With the sting of whiplash, she came back to the present.

"Walking down memory lane?" That voice returned in spite of her. Her nails screamed at her, for in her lapse she'd dug too deeply into the wood of her desk. She released it and tried not to collapse from exhaustion.

"Why are you still here?" She bit out as she turned around to finally face her demon, though she still refused to look at it. Her eyes veered to the side, eying an innocent umbrella she'd left perched against the wall over the weekend.

"I never left. Though, I guess you could say I was taking a pleasant little nap in the cell you've carved out for me," Draco chimed, the notes ringing sharp in the air. He approached her as coolly as if nothing had ever happened to him that would make this entire scenario bizarre. He leaned against the desk, and mused at how stock still she stood. There was a time when his presence made her spine dissolve, when the simplest of touches would invite sensations that melted walls. But this room was frostbitten and frozen.

"That's not what I meant," she muttered. Though, really, she wasn't quite sure what she meant.

"Oh, I know what you meant. Why can't you yank me back in? Well, instead of brooding the night away, like someone I know, I spent my time figuring out how to break the prison locks."

She recalled the migraine that still left its mark on her forehead's creased skin and veins. "Did you have to break my skull, along with it?"

He grit his teeth, though she didn't see. She was still very much avoiding looking at him, as if he might disappear if he was no longer in her line of sight. "If you were trapped in a prison, you'd do the same, wouldn't you?"

She laughed darkly, teetering on maniacally and through her mind the thought of lunacy skirted across once more. He eyed her warily, impatiently.

"What?" He demanded. She rolled her eyes and smiled humorlessly as she shifted across the room, trying to force her attention elsewhere by rummaging through the sole bookshelf the room contained.

"Nothing," she muttered sourly. Hermione was done feeding her madness by talking to it. She had wasted enough of her time already, and had the purple circles under her eyes to prove it. From the moment she'd buried him once again, thinking perhaps it would be the final time, she'd wandered in her thoughts until sunrise had reminded her of her responsibilities. She had lost herself in the forest to be found by Minerva, by chance, and helped back to Hogsmeade. It was night by the time she'd stumbled back into London, finding Draco Malfoy in fragments splattered everywhere, from the most common of items in shop windows to the most coincidental and haunting aspects she spotted on a random passerby. She'd reached home and blindly rummaged through her closet to find the one box she'd tossed and turned over, reaching into it and pulling out the few things she'd allowed herself to keep from the time in which Draco's influence had imprinted itself on all of her. She knew then, as she stared at the random, barely consequential items she'd talked herself in and out of keeping, that she could not chance keeping them. If she simply threw it all out, then she'd be able to throw him out, too.

But here he was.

He shoved himself into attention, suddenly there between her and the folder she was aiming to dive into. She felt a whisper of a headache, of the resistance he put up against the walls she tried to close over and over again. "What?" He urged again, a mixture of anger and desperation in his eyes that made her wonder at how lively her imagination could make him. It caught her off guard, but she geared herself against him with a defensive grin that chilled him.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. It would be counterproductive," she responded callously.

He tried to play along, biting down on his tongue. "How so?"

"Well, if my theory is true, you're just a collection of memories my brain has patched together. So, you've sprouted out of the cracks in my head and must already know everything about me."

As the words sunk in, his face transformed, torn in layers of disbelief, exasperation, betrayal, rage. He shook his head and leaned away from her, hoping maybe if he could just breathe fresh air he would be able to get past the choking sensation in his throat. The woman was maddening, though she had every reason to. He could ease this all with just a brief explanation, but the answers lay like boulders in his head that he could not roll down and off his tongue for the life of him. So, instead, he argued with half-truths and desperate pleas.

"Hermione, for the love of Merlin, you're driving me to an early grave."

"You're already dead."

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring. She watched him patiently, calmly, though that flicker of fear was ever present just to the side of her dilated pupils. She could not resist it now that her eyes had betrayed her and looked to him. She swallowed him whole, taking in every crease of agitation that took over his features, from the furrowed brow to his clenched hands. She was afraid of the tricks her mind could play on her, making her remember him so vividly that it hurt. And it wasn't just that dull drumming that accompanied his presence that set her on edge. Her eyes flickered to the door, and he could feel her own doors trying to close shut on him again.

Without him knowing it, his hand jut out to touch her face, in a faulty attempt to spark that life back into her, the memory of him that would demand her not to push him away. She saw the hand and jolted, and froze when she noticed that the hand made contact with her face. It did not filter through her, but folded itself into the gentle bend of her cheek and jaw, fingers refilling the space she'd once reserved solely for them. She could not look at the hand that had touched her, could not because it shot a needle into her heart and injected a poison that was eased its way further into her system the more she looked at that unfeeling hand. She felt the poison move like molasses, she felt its subtly more so than she felt any contact between them. If she looked, the memory of feelings that had once been so closely tied to the greedy sensation of his skin upon hers would propel that poison deeper into the crevices of her heart. It was a poison, a poison that threatened to jumpstart the comatose pulse that had once beaten quicker when he was near. It crept closer and closer to that small space she'd cast off so long ago, but she thought that if she did not see the shocking hold Draco had on her face then, maybe, she would not be reminded of what his hands had once offered to her. She would keep the poison at bay.

But he was more than willing to pump that poison into her. He stared at his own hand, at the slight blush that rushed over the cheek it occupied, and wondered at the solidity his form had taken in so little time. Even if she refused to acknowledge him, the universe was on his side.

"Can you feel that?" He breathed, afraid that anything louder would scare the atoms away that had let him hold some kind of permanence here. She avoided his watchful gaze as she shook her head, the corners of her eyes revealing the relief she tried not to show. It was bittersweet when he noticed that, when her head moved, her cheek did not shove through his hand but nudged and brushed it instead. If he focused hard enough, he could just feel the slight tingle the contact elicited on his flesh. If she willed it, he thought perhaps she would be able to feel him. If she would just open her mind. If she could just feel him. If she could just stop-

"Why do you keep pushing me away?"

Swiftly, she darted away from the searching, prodding, persistent hand that he still believed he had the right to exert on her life. She wrestled with the ring on her finger, her eyes avoiding both him and that stupid box that lay like a tombstone on her desk, "storage" for the dead because that was what he was. Or supposed to be. She didn't know anymore.

"Are you serious? You're gone and I've moved on. So, why do you keep pushing me back? Why won't you let me go?" She throttled back at him as she whipped around to face him. He stared at her with mouth gaping open.

"Because I'm not gone, Hermione! I'm right here, in front of you, telling you I'm here. I've been here. I've been here, like I promised I would be, and I've been here as you've gone on and I've been here stuck in the same moment I was in when you said goodbye to me. But I never said goodbye to you, and I won't be saying it anytime soon. Not now. I was willing to quietly go away, in whatever way possible, but I couldn't. I've been stuck here because of you. I'm here because of you. You wanted me here. Here I am." She could almost feel the flames of his breath burning her flesh. She could feel the hopelessness that fueled his anger, even though she would not be able to feel the heat of his flushed cheeks under her hands if she dared to touch him. She did not want to even think of touching him. To touch would be to break the last shard of sanity she had left.

"What do you mean because of me?" She urged, though she knew the answer. It was her mind's fault that he was here. She'd conjured him up, after all. But she wanted him to confirm her fears. Just get it out there. Slam the last nail in the coffin.

He shook his head and sputtered a series of curses meant for himself. He rubbed his temples and tried to remind himself of who he was dealing with. "Nothing," he muttered. "Just… you asked me not to leave. So, I didn't. And you keep pushing me away, again and again."

"But can't you see why I would? Draco," he relished in finally hearing his name spill from her lips. She tried not to acknowledge her mistake, could almost see him materializing into reality before her eyes as she called his name. She bit her lip. "I was torn at the seams when I buried you, and I've tried to glue it all back together. I've tried and I thought I succeeded. I thought I'd gotten through the worst, and then I get these dreams," she flinched at the visions that filled into her eyes. "I get these dreams, and then I find you and you start talking to me as if you had never been quiet in your life before, talking to me like you hadn't been in a coffin for the past four years. And you're here, and you're taunting me with things I already said goodbye to and I can't get back if I wanted. And I won't get back. I don't want it back."

He stood there in the silence, and she felt as if the entire room was rattling but she knew it was just her brain fighting against its cage, wishing to pour more fantasy into her already cracked cup of reality.

"Because you've found something new and shiny," he completed sarcastically, and it reached her with the sharpness of a slap. She stood her ground against the force, and eyed his cold and harsh scowl.

"I found someone new," she corrected briskly. "And I love him."

"Do you recite that into your mirror every morning? It's not an incantation I've ever heard but it seems to have wrapped you in a curse tightly enough," he accused, brushing her off as he turned to fiddle with the box on her desk. He noted with frustration that when he went to touch the cardboard, his fingers went straight through. In his consternation, he spotted a lurking shadow in the box that sparked his keen interest. The scowl morphed into the ghost of hope, of a wistful smile. But Hermione was too busy seeing red to notice the change. She was fuming at his – no, her mind's accusations. She was tired of the doubt, of the chains that were trying to yank her backwards in time instead of releasing her to her future. If he wasn't an illusion, if he wasn't a ghost, he was a demon sent from his own personal hell to remind her of the past deals that apparently had sealed her fate to this end. She refused to submit.

"How dare you?" She simmered, the steam in her head feeding a condensation that clogged her vision. "How dare you?" She burst louder this time, pulling his focus away from the box. "You left. I moved on and finally, finally found a piece of happiness that I could hold onto safely without it slipping away. And you appear out of thin air to try and take it away," she blurted out. "You left."

"I never left you," Draco eased, caution shaping his movement towards her. She fought the urge to move backward and stood her ground. Then she felt her feet shifting against her will, but they were moving her forward for once.

"No, wrong. You left for four years. Silence. You were stuck? No, I was stuck. I was stuck in a prison you helped me make in my own body, and I won't let this, whatever this is, put me back there. You're just another ploy, and I won't fall for it."

They were magnets, but too similar in polarity to get too close. There was just enough space between them for tension to pulse in time with her pounding chest, taking on its own life and holding them far enough from each other to keep them from clashing. He wanted nothing more than to prove to her that he was more than just another ploy; that he was more than capable of making up for the four years he'd held himself back and sat quietly behind her eyes and watched as she watched another man with a look that had once bloated his chest with pride and fulfillment when it graced him; that he did not to cage her, but release her from the cornered box she'd shoved herself into and painted to look like a home rather than a prison. He wanted nothing more than to lift her out of the pit, but he was hanging there with her. Why couldn't she just hear him calling out for her hand? He would clasp so tight, she'd never have to fear falling away.

He soaked in her defiance, and felt the jolting resemblance this held to the first time they'd confronted each other. They'd come so far, and yet they were to be laughed at and tossed back into the ringer once more.

"You already fell for me," he reminded her, his voice meant only for her. Though, it wasn't like anyone else would be able to hear him.

Her glare refused to waver. "And look how far you let me fall. You really think I'm going to let you put me through that again?"

"Hermione, you act as if I willingly hurt you, but I didn't. I tried my hardest not to, and I tried my hardest not to interfere because I thought, maybe, you could move on."

"I was moving on. I'm still moving on. So, why are you getting in the way?" She forced out through collapsing airways. Despite the softness of his face, neither of them could help the jagged edges of his bones that spoke of years of foul-tasting endurance and self-loathing. He could promise her safety and security, but his own body betrayed him whether it was standing before her or six feet under. But he tried anyway.

"Because you don't smile like you used to. I see you practice in the morning, like it's part of a role you have to play. It's not really you, not anymore. The real you is in that box you wanted to throw away but couldn't. And I won't let you throw yourself away. I can't lay back and let that happen," he assured both of them. Her eyes flickered over to the box that taunted her just as much as he did, and she felt her blood shudder in her veins as the poison that had settled inside her continued to spread. She could feel a murmur of a beat somewhere inside her, could feel her molecular composition morphing and mutating. She pushed past him, trying to run ahead of the changes fixing themselves into her pores and into her DNA. Was this what it felt like to finally fall off balance?

She grabbed the box with pinching hands that wished to inflict harm onto the damn thing. She weighed it in her hands, as she weighed his declaration, as she weighed the possibility that this was all a crazed attempt of her mind's to revert back to the horrors she'd suffered in the first year of Draco's passing. She carefully avoided venturing back to that time and instead let her eyes venture between the box and the trash bin next to her desk.

"Hermione," Draco warned as he foresaw what she was bound to do. She was already shifting her position, teetering the box over the trash. Without looking back at him, she dropped it.

"I've replaced that girl with the woman that I am now. I don't need those things, I don't need her, and I don't need you."

His eyes narrowed and burned in silence, hating that he could not retrieve the items she carelessly tossed to an unmarked, thoughtless, undeserved grave. "You so carelessly throw your heart away."

She shook her head, and faced him with determination and spite, an astounded smile on her face. "I didn't throw it away. I gave it to someone else," she fought back. He laughed flatly.

"Oh, did you now? Doesn't seem like you chose wisely."

Her mouth flung open in disgust. "My heart is my own to give, and I can choose who I please! You revoked your right to say anything the moment you died," she shot and he buried the surge of curses that came to his tongue, the scream that demanded her to recognize him as a living being. He seethed.

"Really? No right? Because I don't recall ever returning it, even with all its faults."

They stood there, the daggers he threw jabbing into her chest and leaving her winded. Despite the silence, neither of them noticed the knock that came to her office door. She stared at him as one would behold the devil himself. He would not let her rest in peace, would he? He had been sent to drag her down with him, head first.

"You're so selfish," she heaved, feeling hollowness where that heart he claimed to still hold in his jagged clutch should have been. He scoffed, looking away from her. He did not know if he could continue to see the woman before him and see Hermione Granger staring back at him. She seemed to have smothered herself in a new identity that reeked of falsity.

"Oh, please. You're just as selfish. You don't want to deal with your own heart, so you shove the burden onto others in hopes they'll take care of it for you. You don't want to deal with your own life, so you shove it into a box and toss it in the trash. You don't want to deal with me, so you slam the lid on my coffin and let me rot," he fumed, hating the taste of the words on his tongue and flicking them out before they could settle too deep on his taste buds. He sighed in agitation, still refusing to look at her as she had once refused to look at him. And she felt the desolation of it sink into her bones.

The knock came once more, a muffled voice asking for Hermione Granger. They both wondered if the person in question was even in the room anymore.

Relieved to have something to distract her from being invisible, she rushed to the door and opened it. The person had already retreated from the door, moving down the hall. She looked back briefly into her office, hindered from leaving to chase after whoever had offered an escape by the compelling, confusing, devouring need to stay and make Draco look at her and see her for who she was.

But he was gone, leaving her on the edge alone.


	4. Inertia

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks so much for the reviews, as always. They're a blast to read! I'm going on a trip from the 7th until the 14th so I might be getting in another chapter before I leave, or not. We'll see, hehe. If not, I will be writing it on my flight so I should have it ready to go when I get back. Anyways, playlist is on my profile page. Please review, if you can, so I can see what needs work n' all that jazz. I've gotten helpful tips thus far, so thanks! Enjoy!

_6__th__ Year, 1996_

A churning current rolled through her body, from that single vertebrae just behind her heart through the power-line nerves, jumpstarted her blood vessels as electricity charged towards the burning nerve ends at the tips of her fingers. She balled her fists, tried to hold back that energy, channeled it instead to her frantic scan of her surroundings. The scenery blurred in her vision as her eyes darted across the forested landscape. Trees turned into towering walls, and no amount of glaring could reveal what lay behind them, but she could hear the shattering of dry leaves and the splintering of twigs and feeble branches as a bulldozing force throttled towards her. She could hear her own heart giving herself away, slamming against the outstretched limbs of her ribcage. Her mind was beating away, hitting at boxes of filed away information and shoving aside useless folders until it could pull out what it needed from the heap. There was a specific item she was set on finding, hidden behind the foliage of frivolous memories, deep in the roots of herself. She could feel its rough edges and the strong spine as her mind dug it out of the dirt just as she heard her assailants approach. She could hear her name being called out from somewhere beyond the layers of forestry, Harry's voice carrying across the distance foolishly in search of her. Didn't he get that she was trying to divert attention away from him? She bit her lip against a response to ease her friend's worries and looked down at the book that whispered in her hands. It seemed to echo Harry's calls more quietly, coercively, comfortingly. She welcomed the feel of the leather binding and felt that same energy that was coursing through her body pounding inside the book she held. This was the core of it, and as she opened its pages and as feet ran harder towards her, the surging nucleus burst. For a flicker of a moment, the entire forest was cleared of shadows and then even she was consumed by darkness.

"Hermione!"

Hermione felt a tug at the edge of her mind, an intruding hand pulled at the book she clutched to her chest, and stole out of the darkness. She opened her eyes, squinted against the unblocked afternoon light that filled the cabin and the glare that ricocheted off the side of Harry's glasses as he leaned over towards her. Through a filter, the comforting rumble of the train that had first lulled her to sleep reminded her where she was and nudged her awake and aware to the press of a seat's cushion against her cheek, the chatter and occasional trampling of feet outside the compartment she and her friends were in, the homey smell of wood paneling mixed in with the hint of whatever stash of chocolate Harry and Ron had bought from the trolley while she was asleep. Two pairs of eyes were on her, and one pair of hands that were not her own held the book she'd fallen asleep reading. Her attention honed in on those hands as they jostled the book from hand to hand, and her eyes followed the road of scrawny arms up to the curious face inspecting her property; well, her stolen property but neither of her friends in the cabin knew that. And it was that particular fact that she wanted to keep very much in the dark, and threatened to come to light as Ron pondered with the idea of opening its pages.

"Can you mind your own business for just five seconds, Ron?" She grumbled as she sat up, ignoring the bemused expression on Harry's face as she did so. He lounged back into his seat across from her, snatching the book out of Ron's hands and claiming it for his own.

"Well! Morning to you, too, 'Mione," Ron muttered back, as both he and Hermione eyed Harry and the book he fiddled with. He tweaked his glasses, bringing back the annoying glare that poked at Hermione's nerves. She lurched over to take back what was hers, only for Harry to yank it away from her reach.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Harry teased, grinning as Hermione huffed and sunk back into the seat cushion. Under her arm came the familiar plushness and purr of a cat that was very much annoyed by her leaving him with these two for even a moment. Crookshanks complained as he maneuvered under the crook of her elbow, sidled onto his usual spot against her side and plopped his pouting face upon her lap. Absently, she ran a hand through his thick coat to his purring glee; it helped to ease her sudden peak in stress.

"Thanks, but one of you is about to leave the land of the living if you don't give that back," she threatened casually with a wave to the book Harry was about to open. His eyebrows shot up from under the rim of his glasses as he lifted up the book in question, as if to offer it back to her, but another pair of ridiculously long arms shot out to grab it.

"You know, we were just taking it as a way to get you to wake up, but now I'm curious," Ron mused, as the two boys eyed the item of Hermione's keen interest as they held it between them. She silently cursed herself for bringing it onto the train with her but composed herself, forced her face to present ease she didn't feel. Hermione continued to pat Crookshanks' head, buried her fingers into Crookshanks' concealing fur to keep them from reaching across the way, leaned further into her seat, and made a point to look out the window at the passing greenery, indirectly at the sun that was making its routine walk across the sky. She tried to calculate how long she'd been asleep for, and how long she had left on this train before she could escape the scrutiny of her friends for a few hours, and yet she was too distracted in imagining those nosey fingers opening up the book she'd been trying to keep to herself for the past few months.

"I just don't like it when you guys touch my books, because you always, without fail, drop them or scuff them or lose them." She heard Harry scoff. Hermione shot him a glare. "Tell me I'm wrong, I dare you."

"Okay, fine, how about that one book, you know," Ron started without having finished his thought. He paused, pinching closed his mouth as he tried to rummage together any instance to prove her wrong. He opened his mouth again, and his eyebrows bunched up in consternation. "You know, that one book you lent me back a few years ago – that one about stuff, important stuff, school stuff. That one," he fumbled as he nudged Harry for assistance.

"We don't exactly have much to go off of, Hermione, since you don't exactly let us touch anything."

Ron nodded. "Your life is like a museum," he tagged on, to Hermione's annoyance. She gawked at him.

"Because the few times I do, I have to go searching through the rubble of your belongings only to find out that no amount of digging through dirty socks and moldy parchment is going to bring back what was lost," she scolded, and Ron's ears went red at the memory of such an instance as described. Both of her boys began to argue that not only had that been an invasion of their privacy, but irrelevant because they'd never actually lost anything, and Hermione's anxiety slowly slipped away the longer the three of them bickered meaninglessly. Harry was too focused on arguing the fact that he had fairly clean socks to pay much mind to the book anymore. His grip on it had loosened, and the book was angled on his lap in open welcome. She took her chance. Her arms jumped over the gap between them to grab hold of the book, Crookshanks whined as the body meant to be his seat shifted suddenly and abandoned Hermione, and she seized the binding of it only to find resistance when she pulled. Harry still held it, the leather-bound book strained between them in the air as they eyed each other. Her eyes flickered down momentarily to the cover. Relief deflated her chest as she noted the title: _The History of Wandmaking. _She caught him staring as well, and smiled as he made a face of pure horror at holding something of educational worth. But, still, he held onto it to spite her.

"Hand it over, Harry, before it suddenly disappears under your nose," Hermione demanded. He rolled his eyes and refused to budge.

"You're holding it, too, so I'm pretty sure it won't be going anywhere." He gave a tug at his end, rallying her up. She grinned in challenge.

"Can't be sure until it's completely in my possession."

"Oh, come on. Ron, maybe. Me? I'm very good about returning stuff."

"Oh?" Hermione rebutted with a laugh, giving a pull at her end. "I remember you saying that once before, about two years ago. Do you recall that Animagus book you asked for? And where has that gone off to, hmm?"

It took about two seconds too many for Hermione's head to catch up with her words. It was a lag that she usually never had but lately things had become muddled and clogged, making the route from her brain to her tongue backed up. It was not exactly the most opportune moment for the traffic to jam, and in fact the entire cabin seemed to screech to a halt behind the rest of the train. There was a collision as Harry's grasp on the book automatically slipped, left Hermione's side of the tug of war yielding too much pull, and the weight of the book slammed heavy against her shins. She flinched, but it wasn't from the impact of the stack of bound pages on her legs; it was from the shock the damage her words had inadvertently caused her friend. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking maybe if with enough pressure she could push on reverse and pile the words back into her mouth. Instead, she caught the image of Harry when, eager to learn more about both his father and godfather, he had first asked for anything Hermione had on animagi. It should have been very apparent to Hermione why he had yet to return it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think- I didn't mean to," she attempted to correct her error, only to flounder and sigh. She opened her eyes warily to see Harry shrug, his jaw tight, Ron had taken a sudden interest in the pattern of the carpet, the cabin took on a plaguing silence, and Hermione wished she'd just let them open the stupid book. She didn't know why she kept it a secret from them, at least not now that Umbridge was out of the picture and couldn't interrogate them about it. In the silence, her mind filled up with possible reasons, flimsy reasons why she shouldn't share it with them: They would end up borrowing it with or without her knowing it and lose it, leave it someplace someone could get to it. One of them would spill something on it and smudge the ink, stain a page with priceless information. They would end up talking about it too loudly and someone would end up asking her how she managed to possess such a book. Maybe Harry's connection with Voldemort would leak information she was investigating to the other side. While all reasonable conclusions to hesitate to give them the book she kept to herself, it was not reasonable enough to keep a complete secret from them. And yet she did. And even then, when she thought she had accidentally hurt her friend, she was covertly relieved that Harry hadn't found out that this particular book was not at all about wandmaking, and an even deeper part of her wondered if perhaps it hadn't been an accident after all.

There was a brash knock on glass that steered Hermione away from that dangerous line of thinking, the yank of a door as Ginny's vibrant hair, and even more animated face, popped into the cabin, and there she was forcing the deadly silence out with her buzzing energy. It was as if she could smell the fermenting gloom from outside and had come as her own personal brand of repellent. Just the sight of her lifted a layer of weight off of everyone in the room, and thankfully Harry's face softened when he noticed who had come barreling into the cabin.

"The year hasn't even started and yet it appears you're all already brooding over the approaching exams. Even Hermione. Merlin, we're all doomed! But! I have a solution to spruce up all these long faces," Ginny babbled as she plopped down beside Hermione, barely missed Crookshanks' tail and received a begrudged hiss in return for her blatant lack of manners. She grabbed Hermione's shoulders and yanked Hermione towards her, almost detaching her from the seat entirely. "I refuse to let this year go off all dreary-like and so, me and a couple of juniors, nobodies to the likes of you guys of course, are going to put that Room of Requirement to some good use tonight before the fatal classes take their toll on our souls."

"What the hell are you going on about?" Ron asked as he tried to keep a smile off his face. He knew Ginny's tactics for lightening the mood and, for whatever stubborn reason, he tried not to go along with it. She rolled her eyes at her brother and sighed heavily.

"A party, you big oaf," she enunciated, and eyed Hermione when she opened her mouth to protest. "Not too wild, so don't start on your ancient proverbs, Hermione."

"Ginny," Hermione breathed, and already she felt the will to fight her friend drain out of her. "How are you going to even put it all together in less than a few hours?"

Her friend stared at her.

"That's all you've got? Room of Requirement. Whatever my heart desires will appear to make this party the kind of party that the fun-impoverished dream about," she said with a flat face. "You're coming, no tagging on any if, ands, and definitely no buts. Unless they're butts, then by all means they can tag along."

"Ginny," Ron groaned in exasperation from across the way. He looked ready to drown into the depths of the seat beneath him. Harry looked strange, too, like he'd swallowed something laced with needles but didn't want anyone to know he'd been so stupid as to swallow it. He smiled, but it was strained too much to look amused by Ginny's brazenness. Hermione eyed him curiously and, when he caught her stare, he hurried to look away and dedicated himself to staring at the blank sky outside.

"Sorry, forgot that she doesn't exactly hang around a group qualified to fit into that specific category."

Ron paled. "You forget that you're talking to two prefects here. I'll report you and your stupid plan and then you'll never see a b- a whatever for the rest of the year."

"Oh please, we both know that you being a prefect is a joke!"

"Well, either way I'll tell mum tha-"

"That what?" She prodded with a laugh. "Go on, try to even think of telling her a thing, and every dirty sock of lies that I have on you comes out into the open. I have too much on you, my dearest brother, and I'm more than ready to air your laundry."

"How the hell are you related to me?" Ron gaped in horror, his freckles stood out like blood splotches on his white cheeks, and Ginny was at complete leisure. That was the thing about being a girl in a family full of annoying brothers. It became a necessary skill set to be a collector of secrets, stuffed in a handy bag as bargaining chips for later.

She smiled triumphantly. "I ask myself that a dozen times a day. So, we have an understanding, you and I? Come to the party, no grumpy pouty faces allowed."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm all for it," he mumbled as he crossed his arms and slouched back into the seat.

Suddenly, Hermione felt a pair of predator eyes on her. She swallowed, and glanced over at Harry. He was still staring into outer space with a vacant look on his face. She turned to Ginny with a strained smile. "I can't wait," she replied to the silent question that really only had one answer. Her fiery friend grinned from ear to ear and hopped up from her spot next to Hermione with a clap of her hands.

"Brilliant! I'll be in touch all secret like, like you all love, to tell you all you need to know about getting in," she said in a flurry, already eying the door and it was clear to Hermione that Ginny had other rooms to bombard with her presence. She was rushing to the door when Hermione, propelled by the fear of being stuck in the room after Ginny left, tried to keep the room in Ginnified limbo for a little while longer.

"What, no ultimatums for Harry?" Hermione blurted teasingly, her focus split between two parties. She felt Harry stiffen in his corner and Ginny paused with her hand on the doorknob. With ease, Ginny laughed and only turned partially around.

"Oh, please. I already know he'll be there,"

Glasses flared light into Hermione's eyes once again as Harry joltingly turned from the window. "And how would you know that?" He asked. He tried to act cool but his voice was hiked with anxiety.

She gave a flippant shrug. "I just do," she replied casually, and their eyes locked in a fleeting exchange that Harry was still trying to unlock on his side long after Ginny gave a flashing smile and, like a lightning bolt that had slashed through for a brief interlude of light and electric zeal, was gone. The static state of the room resounded her absence as each of them tried to absorb their own personal shocks. Hermione stared at Harry intently, and inquisitively noted the etching of a stumped smile in the corner of his parted lips. Muddled with her relief that the absent look on Harry's face was replaced, was the creeping cluster of questions she had for both of her friends; questions she couldn't very well ask in Ron's presence, she had to remind herself as she started to open her mouth and caught the rustle of Ron's arms as he uncrossed and then re-crossed his arms. His face blended in with the red upholstery behind him.

"Bloody nightmare, she is," he grumbled mainly to himself but was rewarded by a laugh from Harry. Ron's head shot up from his chest and glared at his friend. "It's not funny, Harry. She's always throwing out crappy threat confetti. One of these days, I'm telling you, I'm going to get some serious dirt on her and dump it on her without a second thought. See how she likes that," he huffed, but Harry just shook his head and laughed. He took advantage of Ron's grumbling and hid behind his friend's pitiful situation in order to laugh at his own absurdity. It wasn't the sound of a laugh made at the expense of a friend, but at the expense of one's self; Hermione knew the laugh well enough to know this was one of those instances, and she was caught between laughing along with him or asking him what was wrong. She decided on neither and sat there with a precarious smile on her face, Crookshanks returned to his rightful throne on her lap, and she shoved her book into the small bag she kept beside her. She knew the small interlude was soon to end after the dust settled after Ginny's leave, and her expectations didn't fail her for as she was adjusting the items in her bag Ron cleared his throat. It was partially to get Harry to stop laughing, even though his laugh had downgraded to a quiet chuckle aimed towards the window, but also meant to grab Hermione's attention. She bit her lip and looked up from her distraction.

"Now that that's over with, can we please get back to what we were talking about?" He hinted, and nudged Harry with his elbow who, in turn, begrudgingly sat up. Hermione almost punctured through her lip, the image of her book flitted across her mind, and she tried to keep a smile on her face.

"What were we talking about?" She asked nonchalantly.

"Well, not so much you since you were asleep. That's why we were trying to wake you up in the first place," Ron corrected and Hermione was halted from feeling relief. There weren't many conversations they would need her input in, that they'd have to wake her up for, and even though she was asleep during whatever snippet of talk they'd had she already knew what this was to be about. She eyed her friends and the apathetic scenery outside.

"Oh, well. We can talk about it later. I think I'm going to head over to the Prefects' carriage for a little while, say hello and stuff like that," she spouted and made to get up but both Ron and Harry pinned her down with their united stare. She'd managed to avoid the confrontation for as long as she'd dozed off but it seemed they were out to collect their dues now. She grimaced. "Or not."

"You've said 'later' two times now, and then you fell asleep just to avoid the subject. Hermione, what's up with you and Malfoy?" Ron asked, for what felt like the millionth time. It wasn't his fault the question was grating on Hermione's ears. Well, only slightly. Hermione had been dodging this specific bullet since morning when they'd first boarded the train and, apparently, she was not very successfully. Still, while the two of them were determined to rewind and figure out what they'd missed, she stepped hard on the brakes before the flashes of brick wall and blonde hair could come back to block her rearview mirror. She refused to give the blip of a scene that had occurred on King's Cross another precious moment of her time.

"Oh, please not this again. If I could never hear that name ever again, it would be a miracle. Drop it, seriously. It was nothing," Hermione shooed aside, swatting her hand as if she could brush her friends buzzing questions away like flies. She became wholeheartedly interested in braiding and unbraiding the hair of an unwilling Crookshanks to keep the entire issue at bay.

"It didn't look like nothing," Harry rebounded, and the fly incessantly came back up to her ear. She bit down on her reflexes, caged her tongue and busied her hands as calmly as possible to avoid any detection from her suddenly extremely vigilant friends. Harry watched her just as intently as she had watched him when Ginny was in the room. She didn't like it. "Did he threaten you?"

She steeled herself for that one, rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Harry, he's not the diabolical mastermind you think he is. He has a brain with the density of a toothpick. I can handle him," Hermione assured him, pleading with Ron to take her side on the issue as he had earlier that day, before King's Cross. He shrugged as a cop out response. They had been united in trying to convince Harry that his assumptions about Draco Malfoy were a bit out there, even for Harry, but apparently something had tipped the scales while she had temporarily checked out. Talk enough without any interference and these two boys would probably become clones of one another. It made arguing against the two of them exhausting.

"But you shouldn't have to handle him. Why would he pull you aside like that just before we got on the train, unless he sensed something was off?" Harry continued, the stench of conspiracy strong on his breath.

"Harry," she stated dryly. "If you're worried about him getting that eerie sense of being watched, then don't spy on him for kicks."

"So, you're telling me there was no reason for me to follow him today?" He ground out, and the weight of his narrowing stare drove her mad with frustration. She couldn't help but wonder if he was being this bitter because of her earlier blunder over the stupid book she was ready to pull out and hit him upside the head with. He was prodding at a topic she never wanted to discuss again for the rest of the year, and possibly the rest of her life.

"Possibly." If he hadn't followed so obsessively, Malfoy wouldn't have bothered with her yet again. He seemed to conveniently forget his own role in putting her in the situation to begin with.

"Are you serious? After all we heard when he was inside Burkes?"

"Harry," she sighed, again looking to Ron to interject. The mute began to open his mouth to say something, hopefully in Hermione's favor when Harry charged forward.

"He's up to something, Hermione. Don't act like you don't see it because you're too smart for that," he fumed, and there was a pleading undertone that nudged at Hermione's consciousness.

"Perhaps I'm smart enough to see that he's spineless. He doesn't have the nerve to do anything," she brushed it off again, but this stupid subject resembled the tedious dust that she tried with a vengeance to rid herself of, only for it to flounder in the air before resettling in the same spot she swore she'd wiped clean. If it was not on the platform, it was on the train. If it wasn't on the train, it would appear in the hall, or in the dorm, or while she was studying or while she was trying to forget what a mess things were becoming every time she tried to sweep something away. If it wasn't Draco Malfoy himself that made a layer of grim appear in her life, it was his name or his mention or the splinter of the idea of him that scrapped at her surface and jabbed at her skin. He was debris that Harry brought into the room, debris that enclosed his glasses and impaired his vision and he was determined to make everyone see what he saw. He wasn't blind. She wasn't blind. They both knew that as they quietly took in one another, Harry's head moving from side to side with increasing speed and he probably imagined that his vision of Hermione shaking would in turn shake her into reason. But while they both knew Harry wasn't completely off point with his suspicions about Malfoy, and about Hermione knowing something more than she let on, he just couldn't get how committed she was to clearing her way of the particularly tall and obnoxious obstacle in her way.

"Harry, come on, easy now. You know, it's not like you've been the best at pegging suspects in the past," Ron eased into the sudden and unnerving quiet.

"You're wrong," Harry fought back with conviction, his eyes steadily locked onto Hermione's. "Spineless, really? Peter Pettigrew was spineless and the damage he caused," he scowled at the floor wordlessly, "well, just don't confuse cowardice and harmlessness, 'cause they're not even remotely the same thing. Cowards are some of the most dangerous people there are. They're out to save their own hide, and being spineless just helps them to bend whichever way they need to survive."

She deflated. "Harry, he's not like that." But, how would she know? She grimaced at herself as Harry, and even Ron, scrutinized her. As far as both of them knew, Malfoy was the last person she wanted to know well enough to be able to say anything definitive as that. Even she was determined not to care enough to wonder about his personal decisions and ability, or inability to do real harm. He was not her business.

He scoffed. "Fine, if you think he's so innocent-"

Her mouth shot open. "I never said he was innocent," she mentioned coolly, tried not to upset Harry any more than she already had, and tried too to keep herself from somehow taking Malfoy's side in all this when she wanted nothing to do with him. Harry's eyebrows shot up. "I'm just saying that I don't think it's healthy for you to be obsessing over what he's doing. You're not exactly inconspicuous and there just isn't enough reason to be stressing yourself out over his," she fumbled for a moment, raised and dropped her hands in exhaustion, "whimsies." Even she had a hard time believing what she was spewing. Harry shook his head and turned back to the window, but his lips were parted as if in wait for whatever new line of argument he had brewing in his head. Perhaps too much of herself had rubbed off on him, because he was more than willing to argue his face blue over the fact that he was in the right. She would have been amused if she wasn't so annoyed at his persistence. As she was thinking how much she wished she'd gone to the prefects' carriage like she was technically supposed to do, if only to avoid this conversation a night longer, Harry turned with a look of conviction that warned her to prepare. There was a knock at the door just before he could open his mouth and Neville entered with a more profoundly confused look on his face than usual.

"Aren't you two supposed to be with the other prefects?" He asked, though it seemed that wasn't what he'd initially came in for. Ron grimaced at the reminder of his alleged responsibility, but Hermione saw it as a golden opportunity to flee. She hopped up, and put a hand to her forehead in feigned forgetfulness.

"Ah, blast, I totally forgot. I should be going then. Ron," she called as she gathered her purse and cat. She heard a groan from behind her and a shuffle of disgruntled feet.

"Aye, Harry," she heard Neville say and her ears perked up like antennas, her feet stuck on the threshold of the cabin doorway. Ron grumbled behind her. "I figured I should come in and tell you that Slughorn's invited you, me, n' some others for lunch if you want to join. I know I'm starving and I'm pretty sure the food he's got is gonna be better than what I've got to eat."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Harry answered distractedly. Hermione turned her head and tried to make out what plans her friend had stored away behind the green of his eyes. He frowned when he caught her staring.

"Harry, don't do anything stupid while we're gone, okay? Promise?"

"He's going to lunch with Slughorn. What do you think is gonna happen?" Ron sighed from outside the doorway. He'd managed to slip through the small gap between her and freedom. Harry nodded in thanks to his favorite friend at the moment, rolled his eyes at Hermione, and raised his hand flippantly.

"I solemnly swear that I am not up to no good , and will not be until you return," Harry recited sardonically. "Are we good then?"

She bit down on her tongue and squeezed her eyes shut against the death glare she had prepared for her friend. "Yeah, as long as you keep promise," she muttered haggardly before she finally stepped out of the cabin and walked with Ron to an area of the train that wasn't polluted by nonsense. Hermione even managed to avoid another run-in with the infamous Malfoy as she maneuvered her way to the prefects cabin where people who had no idea of her own personal dilemmas allowed her to believe, in the brief time that it took for evening to come and the express to pull into Hogsmeade, that she was just another student who was stressed out about exams with only the occasional shot down whispers about a brewing war beyond the Hogwarts walls. She felt the stone she carried in her purse, the boulder of a book she had stolen within those very walls for the purpose of preparing for war scratching its presence into her shoulder as the strap of her purse dug into her skin every time someone breathed the letter V, or the word fight, even when it was something to do with fighting against sleep when studying or the tedious nature of trying to get into a vault at Gringotts. She tried to tune it all out for the rest of the train ride and smiled and nodded and joked about the doe-eyed first years that they were all going to have to keep track of, and tried not to think of all the other things she had to keep track of, of whether or not going to Ginny's party was really a good idea, of whether Harry going to that party was a good idea, of whether or not Ron was joined at the hip with Harry on the whole conspiracy theory, of where her own mind was on that conspiracy theory, of where Harry might be and if he was doing something that would end up biting him in the ass, of where Malfoy was. She tried to put it on mute, but the volume wouldn't go all the way down. She could still hear little murmurs of names and places and incantations that floated about in the back of her head like a mantra, and they insistently reminded her that though she felt suspended while the scenery rushed past her, she was very much being hauled along with everything else to a future that was as unreliable as Harry's promise.

Low and behold, when she sat at dinner in the Great Hall with Ron, worried that Harry had, as usual, done something she'd advised him not to do, he strolled in late with blood streaming from his nose. Intuitively, she knew the root cause and her eyes dug through the layers of students sitting to find Draco Malfoy, who stared intently at her. Her teeth gnashed together and ground the slew of words rising in her throat in a whirling dust storm filled with grit and dirt. She let it settle on her tongue as she remained seated and ate with the rest of her friends, as she took in the monotonous speeches she'd heard year in and out, and as she focused on Dumbledore and the people around her as they talked of unimportant and important things all meshed together until it piled in gravely layers that she could neither swallow or throw out. She kept it in as she walked through the halls, did her rounds, and settled into a lounging chair in front of the common room's fireplace with the all too familiar book comforting in her hands. Harry and Ron sat on the larger couch beside her, Ron muttering something about catching Lavender Brown hiding behind the trophy case where Ron had patrolled that night, and Harry teasing him about having an admirer.

"Rubbish," Ron scoffed. He stretched out his arms and rose from his chair. "You messing with me and Hermione over there turning into a vegetable makes me a very exhausted person. So, I'm heading off, and I'd say you two should do the same soon enough before you break your nose again and you," he motioned to Hermione, who shook herself away from staring at scribbles on the pages in front of her, "well, you already look like you're halfway gone."

Hermione bit back a smile. "I think you're forgetting about something, Ron."

A gaggle of girls and boys brushed past Ron as he leaned against the couch, his freckles squished together as he screwed up his face in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Ginny's party," Harry coughed from his comfortable nestled spot. Understanding dawned on Ron's face, and brought the redness of dawn along to his cheeks. His mouth dropped open, his eyes withdrawn as he dropped the top half of his body over the upholstery of the couch. There were mumbles from the cushion that sounded very much like a stream of curses that turned into a river when he finally pulled himself upright with a face redder than it had been before.

"She's going to be the death of me," he muttered vehemently before he disappeared up the stairs to his room, perhaps to hide until it was absolutely necessary to leave. He had perhaps an hour or two before Ginny came to light a fire under his bed. Hermione gave her first laugh of the night and caught Harry laughing with her. It was nice, but very fleeting. They watched each other for a moment, the remnants of smiles clinging to their faces after Ron was out of the room. Harry blinked and it was over, and he turned back to the fire he threw small balls of parchment into. Hermione looked back at the page her hand fiddled with and then back at Harry, specifically at his nose that was strangely straight and clean despite her imagination's image of it.

"Your nose, are you going to go to the infirmary to make sure Luna did it right?" Hermione ventured to ask. Harry shrugged at the fire and tossed another little ball. It missed the flames and landed at the edge of the furnace.

"Doesn't hurt, so it seems alright to me," he mentioned, and Hermione nodded absently. The fire crackled between them and then Harry's voice cracked along with it as he suddenly spoke out again. "Still think he's a harmless fly?"

Her returning laugh was hollow and she looked back down at the scribbled words that had now become a familiar script and style, the same signature scrawling she'd found on her desk last year, and had tossed away, and the same annoyingly snarky commentary. She ran her fingers over an irritated notation etched on the side of a particularly complex spell she was trying to work out, and followed the curves in Malfoy's writing until she found him standing at the end of the road of his words, a warning on his lips:

"_Don't go any further with this, Granger," he hissed after he'd snatched her arm and carted her behind a brick pillar that divided them from her friends and everyone else that prepared to board the Express. Her skin crawled and her body attempted to adjust itself to the sudden drop from its usual position in space with her friends. Hermione blinked and looked around to see if there was anyone else there to witness Malfoy's bold move. She found a brick wall staring back at her. She yanked her arm out of his grasp, and felt instantly more at ease and in control the second his fingers lost their hold on her. She stood away from the pillar he had her cornered against and eyed him with annoyance._

"_What exactly do you even think you're doing?" He continued ranting, the silver in his eyes stirring, a fire behind them melting them down to a frantic current._

"_Well," Hermione replied calmly, "what I was doing was trying to get on the train on time, but I guess that's not on my agenda for today."_

_For a moment, she was spared with having to deal with his feral eyes when he closed them tight enough to sprout crow's feet at their corners, his hands raised to his temples. "Don't even try to play the fool; it doesn't suit you and it is giving me the worst headache since your lot first arrived to this stupid fucking school."_

_She spared herself the energy of rolling her eyes and voted instead to look past Malfoy's shoulder at a head of red that had popped up suddenly. Ron was looking around for her, and she was sure Harry wasn't that far behind. A fear stirred in her gut that wasn't completely explainable to her just yet, but she knew it was borne out of the sickening idea of being caught with Malfoy talking to her. "Get to the point," she shot out sharply, and she won a glower from Malfoy that slowly dissipated as he took deep breaths. He followed her wandering gaze and scowled when he spotted the two heads he would have probably loved to see on spikes. He turned back to her with a severe face that was truly offset by the disarray of his hair. She almost made the joke about his being mad about losing that bottle of gel she swore he kept on him at all times._

"_If you know what's good for you, and your pathetic friends, you'll keep dung brain number one and dung brain number two out of my business. As you can tell, they're very easy to sniff out and I don't like shitheads following me around and stinking up the place," he muttered spitefully, his eyes flying back over to where he'd last seen said shitheads. _

"_Be careful now, Malfoy. You might start sounding like you have some shit of your own you're trying to hide," Hermione snapped as she folded her arms, if only to get them away from Malfoy's hands that hung in wait like traps set up for her. His laugh was acidic._

"_So what? I have my secrets. Everyone does," he returned tartly, and his eyes abruptly turned and rested on hers after a long while of avoiding them. She was bombarded by the loaded and layered emotions he had built up in the depths of silver. She was sent messages she couldn't get just yet, the words backed up and rerouted somewhere else inside her marked: avoid. She wanted nothing to do with anything his eyes had to offer. "Even you have secrets," he breathed with a knowing smile. "Some are just more valuable and worth keeping quiet about... and I'd keep Potter quiet if I were you."_

"_I don't like threats," she grit out, her throat unnervingly tight against the listless amount of things she wanted to tell him she also didn't like._

_His smile widened. She decided his smile was on that listless list of things she didn't like, that she hated with a passion that burned holes in her insides._

"_Then take it as advice, Granger," he suggested, completely at ease. And then, he wasn't. He caught sight of her friends again and his spine went rigid and his nostrils flared; she almost saw fiery sparks. Malfoy turned to her urgently then, all jokes expunged from his face. "I'm serious, Granger. Keep him away from me. Deal with him, or I'll have to."_

_She moved further away from the wall and intruded upon Malfoy's space. "I said, I don't like threats, especially when I know you're more than willing to act upon them," she snarled. His eyes widened but quickly returned to the ease he'd had previously with her, when he didn't think they were being spied upon by his annoying stalker. His fingers twitched and she backed away before he could fully entertain the thought of brushing against her. He grimaced._

"_Strangely enough, I'm not actually that willing, but I have to do what I need to, to survive." The words weren't even fully out of his mouth before she started scowling in disbelief._

"_Yeah? Well, I have to do what I need to, to protect the people I love. So, remember that the next time you want to give me 'advice'," she spat and began to turn away, her main objective to get the hell away from him. But his hand found an opening and latched onto her wrist. The contact slapped away her objective in an instant, replaced it with a muddle of other dangerous aims, and her target was breathing too closely to her cheek as he leaned over, perhaps as a precaution; she spotted Harry and Ron approaching._

"_Don't be foolish enough to think I don't have people to protect as well, Hermione Granger," he whispered hot and sharp against her ear. "So take the advice and keep him out of my way. You'll be protecting yours, and I'll be protecting mine. Deal?" He gave a slight tug to her hand, and she instinctively pulled it away from him. It didn't matter, it had made its impact. She whipped her face towards his and forced her lips to hold back the flood as she tried to make out what his game was. She was so tired of playing games with him when she had better ways to spend her time. He seemed to feel the same way, his legs and arms jittering to move, to run back to the train and avoid the possibility of anyone spotting him even breathing in the same air as her. It didn't make sense to her why he bothered, unless it was true that he was so cowardly as to come to her to put a leash on his problem for him._

_She heard Ron call her name._

"_Deal." _

Her nails dug into the parchment."Harry, I," she started when she realized how quiet it had gotten after Harry's, probably rhetorical, question. He had run out of little paper balls and had taken to simply staring at the embers, and then took to shaking his head.

"I just don't get how you don't see it. You see everything, especially stuff no one wants you to bloody see and now you're turning a blind eye? How do you not see even a bit of what I'm getting at here? Why are you trying to make me feel like I'm losing my-"

"Harry!" Hermione snapped. He finally shut his mouth and met her eyes. "I'll take care of it."

Eyebrows shot up from behind his glasses. Always the skeptic, he scrutinized her. "How?"

She heaved a sigh and swung her book shut, though the familiar inscriptions did not fade away when the pages were hidden. She absently rubbed her wrist and shrugged. "I'm pretty sure anything would be better than what you're doing." Harry opened his mouth to whine but she shot up her hand to pause him. "Don't. Don't worry or do anything for that matter. If he's up to anything, I'll find out myself. So, please stop before you get yourself a broken rib."

Harry huffed indignantly but there was the shadow of a smile on his face. "Alright, fine," he conceded, and glanced back at the fire for a moment of contemplation before he turned back to her with a mixed expression. "So, he did say something to you, didn't he?"

"Of course he did, Harry, but we could have been swapping hair tips for all you would care. It had nothing to do with you," she falsely blabbered. It ruffled rather than soothed his feathers, but he strove to look as relaxed as possible.

"You're keeping secrets, Hermione," Harry accused lightly, to which Hermione smiled curtly.

"We all have secrets, Harry. Mine just happen to be quite insignificant in the grand scheme of things," she murmured, her nails scratching at leather binding.

"Then why are they secrets?"

She chuckled to herself, and wondered why the laughter came so easily to her. "Because I'm selfish and want some things to myself, but you're free to spy on me like you did with Malfoy - if you want, just so you don't feel so bored with normal people things like schoolwork," she teased calmly and was able to coerce a smile out of Harry, though his eyes sparked with that conviction she'd seen earlier in the train. It set her heart lurching forward.

"Fine," he said carelessly. "You find out his secrets, and I'll find out yours."

The laugh lodged itself in her throat and the smile she wore felt frozen in time. And yet strangely, even after she had long gotten off that train, the pull of inertia had her in its forceful grip no matter how much she dug her feet in the ground. It pulled and pushed at her, she felt the disorienting sensation of not knowing where she was in space and where she might be going, and for a moment of insanity, she swore she felt a hand on her wrist guiding her forth.

"Deal."


End file.
